A Woman of No Importance
by Brooklyn Knight
Summary: Despite how she could make the shovels stops, the sleep come easy, and his heart feel lighter than it had in years, Rose was a woman of no importance. She might be brilliant, she might be kind, she might be the only one alive to still have hope for the Shelby boys souls, but she was not important. Least of all to Thomas Shelby. At least that's what he kept telling everyone...
1. S1:E0 -:- Prologue

_**WARNING/DISCLAIMER:** This is a (somewhat) slowburn Tommy x OC fanfiction. Yes it follows canon for the most part and Grace will be in it, though some parts of episodes will be moved around to better fit the story I want to tell. I am not replacing Grace, simply shifting her timeline a few episodes. All chapters including graphic sex are marked with MA. Otherwise rated M for violence and language and content. Please give it and my OC time to develop and reveal her growing character. Yes, I will focus mostly on Rose's main view but this story will also contain a fair amount of Thomas and other's perspectives. Enjoy!_

* * *

I listened with all of my might,  
but was scared by the look in his eyes.  
Like he'd already lost the fight,  
and there was no hope ever in sight.  
No hope in the air, no hope in the water.  
Not even for me, your last serving daughter.

Laura Marling : Hope In The Air

* * *

 **A Woman of No Importance**

 **Episode 0  
**

 **Part I: Prologue**

* * *

There was nothing they could do for him.

These words kept repeating in her head, over and over and over again, until they pierced the inside of her skull, her head aching in pain. But her own discomfort was nothing compared to her patient and friend's.

Michael Walters was a soft-hearted young man in his early thirties, though you might not guess it from the bags under his eyes or the wrinkles of stress that had started on his forehead. Even with his aged appearance, he was a handsome and fit young man, who stood above his fellow soldiers at 6'5, with a burly build and chiseled jawline. An intimidating sight for any to behold when his narrowed gaze landed on them. Luckily for them, his purpose in this war wasn't to kill but rather to save.

Doctor Walters had been an exceptionally skilled surgeon his years before and during the war. Like many of his Englishmen, he been shipped off late in his youth, a man with the world ahead of him, stuck in the dreary and deadly trenches of Belgium. He hailed from a place called Small Heath in the city of Birmingham and often spoke of his dreams of opening his own clinic there once he returned. He'd even gone as far as to offer her a place on his staff, not as a nurse, but as a doctor once she completed her training. That is, if she hadn't had her fill of Englishmen yet. But a sudden and ruthless attack in a relatively stable trench field had put a stop to that dream. The results of the attack had been burns covering most of his chest and legs and the complete loss of his left arm. The arm had ended his life as a surgeon while the infection in his burns would end his life as a whole.

Now here he laid in the dilapidated hospital in which he had spent so much of his time, only sweet Rose Pryor to keep him company as she cleaned and applied new dressing to his badly burnt body. Her kind face was slightly pinched in focus as her normally braided blonde hair knotted in a messy bun at her neck. She looked as tired as he felt.

Unlike his fellow doctors, Michael was a modern thinker. He had no problem with women nurses stepping up to do the jobs of doctors when the need arose. From early on, he and the American nurse got along quite well and found a friendship in their love of books. On the rare evenings they found time to sleep they would read to each other in turns passages of whatever they could get their hands on. A favorite of his being Oscar Wilde's "The Canterville Ghost". The play currently sat beside him on his small nightstand, half open but forgotten when his pain became too much to focus.

 _There's nothing we can do…_

The other doctor had said it with such ease, giving up hope so easily. He was right of course, Michael wouldn't be able to survive this time around. But he was her friend, her confidant, and the idea he'd just be left to suffer until succumbing to his wounds turned her stomach and sat heavy in her soul. So here she was, in the rare moments in which she was meant to be resting, once more with Michael.

"What's that line from the play?" He wheezed as he stared up at the ceiling cracks. "You know... about the garden?"

"You tell me. You've read it more times than I." She cast him a quick look, knowing what he spoke of but not willing to say it.

"Aye," He flashed a smile, "but your voice is so lovely." She shook her head despite a small smile. _He always was a charmer._ "Please, Rosie?"

Rose stilled in her work and looked at him. He was transfixed by something, his eyes not leaving their spot on the ceiling. Perhaps to help him cope with the pain he must be having.

"Death-" The word caught in her throat. "Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence." Rosie softly said, her words emphasized by the sound of faint gunfire outside. "To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow... To forget time, to forgive life…"

"To be at peace." Michael finished, a calm look in his eyes as he continued to stare. Stare, and stare, yet eyes seemingly unseeing.

Rose swallowed despite her dry throat, her hands, always so gentle, resumed her work. After a moment of silence, as much as a nearby war zone would allow, Michael's attention finally moved. His eyes turned to her, a tiredness in them despite a spark of hope. "Rose?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"I'm ready for the grass."

Rose's hands stopped, her entire body tensing.

"Will you do it?" He asked through a cough. "Would you make the pain stop?" His eyes shining glassy in the lamp light.

"I'll get you more morphine." She stood up.

"No!" He shouted hoarsely. There would be little left to give him, that which she could would do nothing and anymore needed would get her in trouble.

Rose looked him over. His chest was covered in gauze, his left arm gone below the shoulder, and his right severely burned, most likely to join the fate of the left had he had a better chance. A heavy sweat drenched his fevered and pale skin. If not for the weak rising of his chest and the pain in his eyes, he'd easily be mistaken for dead.

 _"Nothing more we can do…"_ repeated in her head.

"I'm tired Rosie." He sounded meek, like a small child. It instantly broke her heart and what little resolve she had.

"I can't." She nearly mouthed.

"You can." He suffered a smile, the burns that inched up his face pulling tight. "If it's about God... he'll forgive you." His brown eyes darted to the gold cross she always wore around her neck. A devout Catholic girl, he'd often find her praying over the patients they couldn't save. "Don't you know you're one of his favorites, Rosie?" He tried to joke through tears. "Just look at you."

Rose could help but glance down at herself. Her dress was stained and rumpled, the once gray uniformed permanently a brownish color underneath the mud and blood currently staining it. But even after a year in a war so vile it sometimes made her question her faith, she remained unmarked. Only a few scratches having hurt her, and nothing that would leave any permanent mark. Even when the Spanish Flu waged its own war upon them, she had lived, her short period of pain and suffering mild compared to those who now lay dead or fighting for every gasp of breath.

"Nothing bad ever happens to you, Rosie. Should have remembered that before I went into the trench without you." His smile momentarily became a sneer, though his anger wasn't aimed at her. His eyes tried to look upon his failing body, but his head was too heavy to lift. Instead, he stared at her, seeking the ultimate act of compassion in a woman who always seemed to soft for the hell she'd chosen to enter.

"He'll forgive you." He repeated. "He'll forgive you for _saving_ me."

"Michael…" She knew. She knew he'd be dead soon, maybe a night, maybe a week, but he'd suffer. The infection had set, no more of their dwindling morphine could be given to a man considered a lost cause. There was nothing they could do for him. Except, maybe...

"Please," He gasped. "Rosie." He said her name so softly, not from lack of air or pain, but hope. A prayer. "Please...make it stop." He begged, a tear falling from his eye as his voice cracked and crumbled. Everything ached, everything burned, as if he was still being pulled from the trench.

"Okay. Okay," She whispered. She backed out of the small room, her normally graceful feet stumbling as they seemed to drag. For ten minutes she stood outside the room, gaining the courage to make her feet move another step. It was a wheezing, hacking cough that shook her from her stupor. She grabbed a pillow from one of the beds that lined the empty hall before returning with it in shaking hands.

"Say it again? You make it sound so pretty."

"Death must be so beautiful." She trembled though her voice was low and calm. Michael closed his eyes. "To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence." She kneeled on the bed beside him the pillow poised above his face. "To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at _peace_."

Tears fell freely from her green eyes as she squeezed them shut, her body lunging forward to press the pillow over his face as she finished the scene. "And then the ghost remembered the poem and spoke 'You can help me'." She gasped. The little morphine he had been granted had dulled his senses but his natural instinct to fight back prevailed, his hand numbly trying to grab at her. It held her small wrist but made no attempt to move her. This is what he wanted. "You can open for me the portals of Death's house, for love is always with you-" He just squeezed as she gritted her teeth and kept the pillow there. "and love is stronger than death."

She put her weight behind it, eyes closed and teeth gritted as she finished the scene until his hand let loose it's grip. With baited breath she slowly opened her eyes, staring at the pillow spotted with her tears before hesitantly lifting it.

A years in war together. The blood, the screams, the fire… and for the first time since she had met him, Michael looked peaceful. His eyes slightly opened, his mouth slightly parted. She choked a sob as she lowered his eyelids.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She wept. Whether her apology was meant for him or God, she didn't know.

For a moment, just a heartbeat or two, she imagined him to be sleeping. And for that, she made herself silent as she could be, afraid to disturb his well-deserved slumber. She removed herself from the bed, slowly easing her grip on the pillow until it fell on the dirty floor.

Rose had seen many deaths in her time, enough to have her full of it, but never before had it been her hand to cause it. And they had. Trembling, she looked down to the blood and dirt-stained fingers, she'd not had the chance to wash them before coming to his bedside. And though her killing has been clean and merciful she suddenly felt vile and cruel.

She felt ill. So violently ill.

She stumbled from the room, her knees shaking until they gave out from under her with a lurch. As her hand hit the muddied ground vomit spewed from her mouth adding to the mess on the floors. Tears ran down her face, the red in her eyes making their green color glow.

What had she done? What had she done? Oh God...

Her hand blindly sought out her only true comfort, the gold cross that hung from her neck. Yet the familiar piece of jewelry suddenly felt cold, its edges sharp in her palm.

"Tsk, look what you've done, now!" A familiar scolding voice came from before her. A familiar scuffed black shoe stepped into her line of sight. "You'll need a new dress." Her superior tisked motheringly.

Rose's bowed head lifted, bile still on her chin, and tears streaming through her red eyes. Innocence in a storm of madness. "What?" She croaked as the world spun around her.

"I said, 'You'll need a new dress'." A gruffer baritone repeated.

Rose blinked once, then twice, only to turn and see the memory of two years past fade from sight and mind, replaced by a rather irate cab driver looking at her like she was dim in the head.

Her green eyes darted to her chest, one arm crossed in front of her while the other's hand gripped tightly to her necklace. She let go of it as if stung, her hands tightening and uncurling as she inspected them.

The only marks the lines from the cross' hard edges.

"Not from around 'ere, are you?" He asked her as he picked up her things from the carriage's back and placed the two bags on the ground beside her.

"No, Sir." Her American accent, clear and eloquent like the lady she was raised to be, responded quite simply.

"Knew it before you even opened y'er mouth." He looked her over for a brief moment. "Small Heath ain't no place for a lady to wear white." He grunted to himself. "Ain't no place for a lady at all." He mumbled.

Rose bit her lip to keep herself from correcting him. Her dress was actually a pale yellow, but judging by the way he kept rubbing his discolored eyes, she didn't have to examine them to guess his vision was going.

She pulled the silver coins from her coat pocket and handed them to him. He in turn counted the schillings to making sure they were all there before tipping his hat to her and taking his leave. At least until he had a change of heart.

"Are you sure, miss?" Normally he didn't bother with the lives of his fares, but this young woman was clearly out of place in her spotless pretty dress and wide green eyes.

"I'll be fine." She assured, a simple smile brightening her face for just a moment, thinking back to what she was once told. "I'm a favorite."

* * *

An hour later, Rose found herself at her true destination, the empty floor above the Garrison pub. Rose looked around the room, sheets with thick grey layers of dust covering the tables, windows, and lights. A single simple uncovered lamp lit the wide and open space. "It's…" It was filthy, neglected, and the floor a bit curved, she notes as a stray bottle was gently kicked and rolled far too easily. "-nice." She offered a closed mouth smile over her shoulder.

Harry Fenton, the owner of the building and pub downstairs scratched the back of his head. He was an older gentleman, whose entire appearance she could summarize as long and narrow. From his tall lanky frame to his soft oval face, he held no real sharp curves except for his protruding nose, long and narrow, like his face, except with a somewhat large plump end. His brown eyes were kind but filled with worry as he watched her.

Had he known it was a woman coming to look at the space, a proper one too, he would have tried to clean up things a bit more. He pulled a sheet from an overhead lap, giving the room a bit more light. A mistake, as a mouse was then seen scuttling by and back into the dark.

Harry cringed. This is why he had so much trouble finding a renter in the first place. Filth, rats, gangs, and drunks always rushin' through.

"You'll tell your husband it's not usually like this, please?" He tried to appeal to her merciful side.

"I'm not married." She commented as she walked about the room, gauging the size and equipment she could accommodate.

"Oh, well your father-"

"Mr. Fenton I think you're confused, I'm not married, and I'm not a secretary. I'll be renting the space myself, _for_ myself." She spared him a firm look. "Would that be a problem?"

"Yes." Rose's brows raised. "I mean, No!" He quickly corrected. "It just that, Small Heath isn't the best place for a young, pretty, single-"

"You're the second man I've met today that's told me that." She flashed her pretty white teeth at him. "I'll handle my affairs just fine, Mr. Fenton, I assure you."

Harry's long face scrunch a bit in suspicion as he looked her over. He wasn't quite sure if he could rent to a prostitute or brothel owner. Even a ladylike one such as her. Drunk men and fast woman often made an explosive situation, and he didn't have much money in his pocket to clean up what mess might result from that fuse blowing. Then there were the Shelby boys... "What exactly do you plan on doin' with the space, Miss?"

"I'm opening a clinic. Which as you might have guessed, does take a bit of time. I saw you're also looking for a barmaid?" She quickly spun on her heels to face him. "Perhaps we could offer an agreement of sorts?"

Harry blinked, his face going a bit slack before tensing once more with a scoff. It was one thing to rent and work above, but to be _inside_ the Garrison and in the line of less-pleasant men's sight... "Are you mad?" He implored. Rose didn't answer. "Do you know about this place?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Job's been filled." Harry shook his head.

Rose cast him a withering glance. "It was in yesterday's paper, just like last month's paper, and the month's before that." She caught him in his lie. She suspected he didn't have a lot of options.

"Believe me, love, I'm doing you a favor."

"I'm not asking for favors, I'm looking for fair trade. Admittedly I don't drink often and I'm not much use behind a bar, but I'm a great cleaner. I'm simply suggesting that in exchange for help keeping the place clean and stocked, my wages are taken off my rent till my supplies come in and I can open for business."

It was appealing, it would indeed help. And for a moment he considered it until he caught sight of her once more. Harry's brown eyes narrowed, the wrinkles around his mouth setting firm as he clenched his jaw. "No, no, I don't think it's your line of work Miss Pryor."

"In what way?"

"Emptying the spit buckets, mopping the-"

"Belgium." She suddenly said. She watched as the bartender's posture straitened while his brow furrowed. "I served in Belgium. Did you fight Mr. Fenton?"

Harry nodded hesitantly. "A-Yes, until my arm got torn up." He rolled his shoulder hearing it click, glancing at the scars hidden under his shirt sleeve.

"I don't mean to pry-" She began gently with kind eyes."-but was it bloody? Was it burnt? Was it more horrifying than you could imagine?" Harry swallowed and nodded. "And I'm sure a nurse most likely treated it. Do you think _I_ saw anything less in Belgium?"

"No." He sighed. "No, miss Pryor."

"Then I think we agree I can handle a few spit buckets and the occasional sickness mop up."

"You're too nice." Harry shook his head. "And too pretty." He looked her up and down, not lustfully, but observantly. "They'd have you up against a wall."

"I doubt they can be any worse than what I swatted away there, sir."

"Not these men." The bartender shook his head. "There's a gang, the Peaky Blinders. They're bad enough as it is, but the Shelby brothers... they're the worst of them. They come here often. If they decide that they want you, then there's nothing anybody could do about it."

" _I_ would do something about it." She firmly retorted. "Noted, and thank you." But Rose seemed unconcerned with the warning. "Now back to that rent discussion-"

"Miss Pryor-"

A determined look crossed her face as she ripped the coverings from the window. "Please call me Rose, Mr. Fenton." Bright light immediately shining into the room, it revealed a cloud of dust swirling around them. "We should get familiar." Her eyes focused on the coal-black painted street below her. "I plan to be around for quite awhile."

* * *

 **Please Review :)**

 **Huge thank you to Heaven and Cait for urging me to write this and Beta-ing for me. It wouldn't be here without you. :)  
**


	2. S1:E0 -:- Friendly Folk

**-:x:-**

How can I say this without breaking  
How can I say this without taking over  
How can I put it down into words  
When it's almost too much for my soul alone.  
I loved, and I loved, and I lost you.  
And it hurts like hell, yeah it hurts like hell.

Fleurie : Hurts Like Hell

* * *

 **A Woman of No Importance**

 **Episode 0  
**

 ** **Part II: Friendly Folk  
****

* * *

While guilt had brought Rose to the dreary town, it was loneliness that had drawn her to the church. In its consecrated grounds, she found a small bit of familiar comfort. It's dark walls aglow with the soft light of candles and it's massive stained glass window behind its altar reminded her more of the church she had attended with her parents.

Small Heath was not a very religious place, Rose had come to notice. Even if she did frequent at odd hours of the day, she found the medium cathedral almost always void of worshipers. And on the days in which traditional mass was held, the pews barely half filled.

When she returned home to New York for a brief period she found even her usual busy church filled to the walls and doors. Parents praying for the souls of lost sons, wives and widows praying for health and guidance for their returning husbands, and the men themselves fulfilling promises they had made in exchange for making it home alive.

Perhaps the horror of the war, seeing it so close, losing so much hadn't made them grateful but rather bitter and faithless. Or maybe Michael had been telling the truth. God had left these people long before any war had made them leave God.

She didn't know whether to love it or be wary of it. Perhaps it was her own greed that gave her extra comfort praying in almost solidarity.

Other than herself, the only two permanent figures she had come to expect were those of the well-aged Priest bustling to and fro, and a woman decades older than herself. Though they had seen each other often, they had never spoken, never even acknowledged each other. Even now as her dark brown curls fell over her face as she kneeled with bowed head, counting on her rosary in the middle of the far pews. Rose walked by her presence quietly, knowing the only drawback to the empty church was how the tapping of shoes seemed to echo off the stone floor. She got the feeling they both liked coming during the middle of the day to be left to their own doings. Rose certainly wouldn't bother her.

As she did all days, Rose approached the votive candle rack, she stared at the statue of the blessed Virgin Mary and felt a heaviness in her heart. She lit the red candle in silence, her mind both at peace and in a flurry as she was left alone with her thought in this most familiar of place.

She closed her eyes and repeated a now familiar prayer for the soul of the man she had come for. When her eyes opened her gaze was ensnared by the flame growing in the candle, the simple dancing spark of fire reminding her of a happier time. She could feel the sudden coldness of winter stiffen her bones and whip against her skin...

"Rose. Rose are you even pay attention?" Michael's snapped fingers had clicked, drawing the young nurse's attention away from the fire and towards him. The Doctor sat at the other end of the small room, his favorite book in his hands.

"Of course." Rose smiled, pulling her blanket tighter around her. The winter of 1918 was cold and harsh, worse than anything she'd ever experienced her many years in New York. Then again her time in New York had not been spent on a cold hardwood floor less than a mile from a very volatile Belgium trench field. It was not fireworks you could hear outside the broken window but the thundering cracks of bombs and shell fire.

For the first time in a very long time, Rose wished for home. Not its comforting walls or the people inside it, but just for the large roaring fireplace she and her brother would sit in front of and play games in their youth, each waking the other in an attempt to see Santa Clause before eventually falling asleep and being carried to their warm beds. And when they woke they would run back to the tree, the room warm and snug the moment you'd open the heavy wooden doors, as if enveloping you in a hug. Oh, how she missed that fireplace...

The fire before them, no bigger than the book in Michael's hands, was a poor and ineffective imitation.

Michael gave her a disapproving look, fully aware she was dozing off when they should be staying awake and at the ready. But instead of berating her like others might have, he simply continued on reading when she flashed him a tired but waiting smile.

The doctor cleared his throat and continued. Rose's attention lulled once more, her eyes finding the flames that seemed to sway back and forth from the ever constant winter storm that slipped through the wall's cracks and holes. Back and forth, back and forth, they bent with the wind before rising high once more. Rose's eyes grew heavy as Michael read one of her favorite passages from the play, "And the ghost told her 'You must weep with me for my sins, because I have no tears. And pray with me for my soul, because I have no faith. And then, if you have always been sweet, and good, and gentle, the angel of death will have mercy on me."

Rose's eyes opened, the small fire gone, a few dozen candles taking its place. Yet the chill in her bones did not leave. Not did the tightness that gripped her chest, a cruel mix of a tight tug and a rough unexpected push from behind.

"He better." Rosie spoke to herself. Standing alone in the Catholic church, her peaceful memory was interrupted by the heavy closing of a door. She blew out the matchstick still in hand and wiped at her eyes. She'd said her prayers, she'd pleaded for mercy, she'd lit her candle. With nothing else to do, she began to take her leave.

As Rose walked down the side aisle of pews, the quiet of the church was interrupted once more.

"You've been here two weeks." A rough feminine voice called into the otherwise empty church.

Hesitantly, Rose paused and turned to the source. The other woman she had grown accustomed to seeing and passing sat calmly in the middle of the pews ahead of her. While the church was normally a community affair filled with good wishes and kind words, Rose got the feeling that, like herself, the woman came in the middle of the church for a private kind of worship. And for that reason they had never exchanged words or even a glance through the many times they had crossed paths in the church.

The sudden change in ritual startled her. "Excuse me?"

There was no one else in the church, yet the woman's head remained firmly towards the altar ahead of them. Her head only turned when no further sound was made, the church truly silent. Her dark brown eyes roaming over Rose studiously. "You've been here two weeks. And every time I come 'ere, you're either comin' or leavin' in tears. Why?" Her brown gaze stared through her.

The doctor's stance shifted, her hands folding in front of her like a bad habit as she glanced at the altar. "Catholic guilt." Rose knew it could easily be passed off as a joke, but for her, it was pure truth.

The woman looked her over giving an almost unnoticeable nod. Rose thought that would be the end of it. But her interrogator's curiosity wasn't satisfied, oh no, it simple piqued it more. "Sit." She nodded firmly to the seat beside her before returning her attention to the head of the church.

Rose didn't, and wouldn't, move until she was looked upon once more. This time the elder stared her down, a battle of wills ensuing.

Pride would always be her downfall. Her mother had commented upon this many times. To prideful to be obedient, too humble to be outgoing, she was stuck in a limbo that her mother thought would leave her with no husband and no future. She would not be commanded like a dog. And Rose stood strong, the change of peacefulness to tense battlement making her hair stand on edge as she shifted her weight from one foot to another.

"Sit, Miss Pryor." She ordered a bit firmer, a small smile gracing her lips when Rose's face clearly showed her surprise. She had no chance in the game of poker. Curiosity, and a small tinge of fear, forced Rose's feet to move on their own.

Her father had always taught her never to trust a man who used her name before properly being introduced. She wondered if this same distrust should be applied to women as she took the seat so firmly offered to her with a quite displeased sigh.

"Why are you in Small Heath, Miss Pryor?"

"Have me met?"

"No. But consider it part of my job to know when a new business is opening up. Especially one that rents months in advance upfront."

"Then you must already know."

"Harry tells me you're setting up a clinic. What I want to know is why of all the places on God's green earth some rich American woman chooses to do so in Small Heath?"

Rose gave her a curious gaze, still put off by the mixture of equal curiosity and knowledge the woman seemed to look at her with.

The brunette's eyes raked over her form, her mouth tightening to a thin disapproving line as she looked down at Rose's fine pale pink shirt and long beige skirt. It was very pretty, yes, but the light colors wouldn't last long in the dreary city covered in filth found on floor, in sky, and on soul. "You tend to look out of place."

Rose's sadness was momentarily replaced with exasperated aggravation. The kind doctor gave a hefty unladylike roll of her eyes, her head tilting with the force of it before she exasperatedly turned her attention back to the woman. "Like I said," Rose shifted in her seat. "Catholic guilt." It sounded meek. God, she hated sounding meek, but the calm penetrating gaze of the woman reminded her of when she was scolded as a little girl. Rose tried her best not to fiddle with her skirt.

Oh, she knew that look. With a pitying hmm, the brunette swallowed. "What's his name?'

The question caught her off guard, but a quick glance showed it was not so much a guess as a theory based off her own experiences. Because of that, Rose knew she couldn't lie.

"Michael." She said quietly. Her shoulders sagged as she said it.

"Do you love him?" She was quickly asked.

"Yes." A slight cringe crossed Rose's face at the spilled response. "I mean, no. We… I never…" Rose sighed, not expecting to have to explain herself to anyone today let alone explain him. She loved him enough to betray her own beliefs to ease his suffering. She loved him enough to do as he asked. She loved him enough to miss and think about him every day. But did she love him in that all-consuming yet so shortly summarized way of just 'in love'? "We were never together he was just more of…"

"A perhaps, maybe, one day, almost?" She was offered.

Rose remained silent even as her mouth gently opened to speak. "A friend." She firmly corrected. "Just a friend. A flirt," she conceded to that much, thinking with a faint smile on her parted lips how she'd giggle not at his advances but at how ludicrous they were. Only he could sound completely sincere when saying the mud and bloodstained ratty uniform barely held together complimented her form, or how her flushed face made her green eyes greener. Yes, he was a flirt, but he'd been like that with every woman he crossed. "A friend and nothing more." She decided.

"Did he find a woman more appreciative of his compliments, or is he still here with you just being friendly?"

"No." She said suddenly, her face slightly pinching. "He's dead now." She said so calmly, her eyes a bit glassy as they stared at the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. "But he spoke of this place with such love-" at that her interrogator couldn't help but give a small snort. "-he wanted to come back, open a clinic, and then a hospital, help the people that 'God forgot'." She used his words, even if they didn't sit well on her tongue. "I didn't exactly have anything better to do so…" Rose turned to the woman a gentle but clearly forced smile on her tightened lips. "Here I am." She shrugged. But the casualness only seemed to enhance how her green eyes were glassy, her black eyelashes seeming to flutter as she blinked to keep her composure.

"How'd he go?" The woman asked just above a whisper. Her mind screamed not to, probably the same burned, bleeding, or bombed way as most men, but there was a haunted ghost in the doctor's eyes that told her that guilt might not just be a result of her faith. Her brown eyes looked over her slight frame, a hundred possibilities bursting to the imagination yet none seeming to fit with what she'd seen or heard from the girl.

Whatever she thought, the answer was not amongst them.

A haunted look stained her face as she stared at the wooden pew before them, eyes following the tiny engravings of bark lines. "He died very peacefully." Her brows furrowed, eyes flickering skyward in thought. "At least I think I made it peaceful." She whispered, eyes looking for confirmation from the soul or God himself she indeed had. It was a faint little admittance that the elder woman probably wasn't meant to catch.

But she had. Even though she was slightly thrown by the confession, she schooled her features. "Did you kill him?" She asked plainly.

Rose's eyes snapped back to the altar before them, widening just slightly.

That was a yes.

Catholic guilt indeed…

"Is that why you're here every day?" The woman stared at her, eyes neither kind nor judging. "In that case, who do you really pray for? Him or yourself?"

"A bit of both I suppose," she whispered faintly. Her insides felt they were slowly being squeezed out from her like when her younger brother would pounce on her in her sleep. Painful and nauseating all at once.

"Was he in pain? Would he have suffered terribly?" Her tone had become firm and boarding on scolding now.

A tear slipped from Rose's eye as she nodded, her mouth tightly closed, afraid of what else would come out should she open it. Maybe another confession, maybe a pure deafening scream. She didn't know.

"Than stop praying for yourself. God's forgiven you." The woman grabbed her chin like her nanny used to, gripping the fine end as she forced her to look into her dark brown eyes. "God's forgiven you." In this, the woman clearly believed. "Stop praying for him. He's done and moved on." She shook her head, tightening her grip when Rose tried to turn her head defiantly. The older woman didn't even flinch when Rose grabbed her wrist. "You want someone to pray for, Miss Pryor, pray for the men that came back half dead and half minded." She released Rose's chin. "Pray for Small Heath. Your man was right, we could use it more than most."

Silence fell once more as they stared at each other.

"Why isn't you're clinic set up yet?"

"It's slow coming." Rose excused. The brunette's woman's brow raised expectantly, once more giving her that look as if to imply her previous assumption had been right. Rose straightened, never one to be looked at as if lazy. "It has to be cleaned and sterilized and then orders made and shipment delivered in."

The older woman stood, a determined look on her face as if contemplating something before nodding decisively. "I'll send my youngest." She offered.

"Pardon? No, no thank you, there's no need for that Miss. I-" Her rebuttal fell on deaf ears as the older woman straightened her black dress skirt.

"You need any help movin' things in go to Watery Lane, number 6. Tell 'em 'Aunt Polly' sent you."

Rose could only assume she was Aunt Polly. And it was clear Aunt Polly was not used to being told no.

She stood outside the pew, her deep brown eyes softening along with her face. "I hope you aren't scared off too soon, Miss Pryor." Polly has decided she liked the company of the woman, yet was still doubtful she would last long. "This place needs more god fearing women. And God knows I don't have enough grace or time to pray for these men nearly as much as they need." She turned towards the altar and crossed herself before she left, her low heels clicking against the floor the only sound in the cathedral.

When Rose continued to sit there, the heels turned around and came closer. Polly leaned down in the pew behind her, her mouth close to her ear. "I believe you were on your way out before I stopped you." Polly pointedly said told her. This time two women exited together, pausing at the church's entrance, Polly offered her a cigarette which Rose declined. With a friendly nod of her head, the older woman went the opposite direction.

Rose watched her go, a sureness in her step as she walked down the dirty street as if she owned it. The doctor couldn't help a peaceful smile, genuine and warm and light as it hadn't been in such a long time light her face as she stared after her.

She had come to the church to relieve her burden of a heavy conscience and heavy heart.

The weight of which was still there, but she felt as if she had a confidant to help her carry the burden of it. Her green eyes narrowed looking up at the smog and cloud filled sky above the church. She could only pray Polly and Michael were right.

* * *

True to her word, Polly had sent her youngest, Finn, to aid her in her harsh cleaning. The boy of ten, was a rather sweet, quiet, and noticeably short thing.

When he had first approached her it had been in the bar she currently cleaned. His small frame hidden behind the bartop, his dark grey flat cap peaking over the surface so perfectly she nearly picked it up to clean. He had introduced himself rather well, looking up at her despite his small build with a sureness to himself most grown men didn't have. It wasn't until she had his full name did she figure out why.

"Finn Shelby." He said with clear pride.

 _Shelby._

Rose couldn't decide between rolling her eyes and laughing or barking out sobs at her luck. Instead, she closed her eyes and rested an elbow on the counter, her hand covering her face as she groaned before peaking at him through her fingers.

 _Well, no need to dwell on it now_ , she thought with a hefty sigh as she straightened "Are you ready to work, Mr. Shelby?"

"Yes, Miss Rosie."

And just like that, their ritual began. Finn would come into the bar, waiting patiently until she had finished what she was doing before she was released with a nod from Harry. They would scurry upstairs through the bar and while Rose would scrub till years off grime came off the floor, Finn would catch the mice and reach under low spots and in between high crevices.

Each day as the bar became busier with men ready to drink away their wages, Rosie would send the boy home with bits of chocolate.

It continued on this way for a week until finally the floors were scrubbed, the mice were caught, and the clinic was deemed clean enough to begin unpacking.

On that final day, Rose had presented Finn with not only a whole chocolate bar but a full pound for his hard work. It was his first real wages and as all excited, proud children do, he ran home to gloat to his brothers. Secretly with the idea that proof of payment from Miss Rosie would result in actual payment from his brothers, namely John, who always said he had a 'job' for him yet never seemed to pay him or fulfill on the promised reward in return for doing said job. Little did Finn know this was the station of all younger siblings in the world.

But it wasn't until yet another week had passed that she would meet the boy's older brothers. And she would soon learn not a single one of them were as polite as him.

Having sent Finn off home with nothing yet for him or herself to do she spent her afternoon restocking the bar and making notes for new orderings. As she counted a case of bottle rum she rested her hip against a side corner, head dipping down and focused in an attempt to write legibly for Harry to read.

Caught up in her totaling, she was shocked when the small window to the pub's private room suddenly opened, the noise and movement so close to her bowed head it made her jump. Her hand reflexively coming to settle over her thumping heart and grab the cold gold cross that lay there.

The cause of her scare stood center in the middle of the Snug's window. His black hair was cut in reminiscence of the military, the sides closely shaven down while the top was combed a bit messily atop his head and hung a bit boyishly over his forehead. The usual pale skin she'd grown accustomed to seeing in this seemingly sunless country, was a bit darker than most. It fit nicely across his high rounded cheekbones and defined square jawline.

He was a handsome man, little debate about that, but what she, as she imagined everyone else who met him, would come to remember most about him would be his eyes.

A blue clearer than any river or sky she'd seen for quite some time. The light color seemed to only enhance the sharpness of their gaze as they looked at her.

Said blue gaze was drawn to her chest at her movement, catching her clenching the cross before lowering her hand. Admittedly, his gaze lingered for a moment before cold blue eyes rose to meet her's once more. He had rather full dark lashes for a man, she noticed, as he looked at her through them before raising his head a bit higher.

"Yes? Did you need something?" Her posture relaxed as the surprise left her, only for one shock to replace the last.

His head gently tilted ever so subtly to the side. "Are you a whore?"

"Excuse me?" Rose's face remained calm but she could feel her feathers ruffle. Behind her, Harry had caught sight of the man as well.

"Sorry, Mr. Shelby." The barkeep gently pushed her to the side as he placed a new bottle whiskey on the window counter. "She's new here."

Thomas didn't even acknowledge him. His cold eyes continuing to focus on Rose. "Cos if not, you're in the wrong place."

"So I've been told." Her mouth pinched as she looked him over the same way he had her. Thomas thought that was the end of it until she opened her mouth as he grabbed the bottle. "You Small Heath people aren't a friendly bunch are you?"

"No." He said quite plainly as his dark brows jumped for a moment before closing the doors in her face.

A bit taken back at the suddenness of which it had all happened, she shook her head and let out a breathy scoff. "And here, I was told _the French_ were rude." She whispered to herself as she resumed her task.

As she came back to the end of the bar, Harry placed a gentlemanly hand on her upper arm.

" _That_ was Tommy Shelby." Harry exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath. His hand came up to wipe his face of a sweat that wasn't yet there.

Rose cast a look back to the window. Finn had better manners. Even Polly did, she thought thinking of the unusual meeting that had resulted in a confidant like friendship with the woman.

But while Rose was thinking of Polly, Harry was thinking of Tommy. Perhaps in her fright, she had missed the way Thomas' eyes had flickered between her green eyes, roaming over her face with a gentle curiosity as he gave a quick scan over her face, his eyes lowering down her body as his jaw tensed in a restraint way.

He'd seen plenty of men give Rosie that same look since she'd started working.

It was surprise at the new face that appeared to come from nowhere with how quick and quiet she was, almost invisible it seemed some days. Awe at her finely crafted face, gifted from God with a kind innocence and youthfulness that would probably never fade. And finally lust, as their eyes raked down her form, crude thoughts lurking as soon as they'd realize the angel was a very real, warm, woman. Did he ask in hope? Ready and willing to pay to see if an angel's face hid a sinner's skill?

Afterall, Thomas Shelby wasn't a regular drunk who would take a hint after a slap on the reaching hand and a shout of warning from Harry. And because of that small interaction, the landlord was now worried. "Miss Rosie, I warned you. If one of them wants you, nobody can really stop them. Luckily for you, Tommy hasn't wanted anybody since France, but it's best to stay out of their sights, you know?"

"Out of sight, out of mind?" She couldn't help but look towards the Snug's window. She wondered if her landlord knew her connection to them already ran deeper than either had expected.

Harry nodded. "It's the other two, Arthur and John you need to stay away from."

"Noted." She replied in that flippancy Harry had come to learned meant she probably didn't care. As she left to count the stock in the back, Harry ran his hand over his face in exasperation.

The clinic was slow progress with just herself and the boy to mend it, but once it opened officially, Harry worried what he'd do without her. Though Rose usually kept to herself, she was a pleasant addition to his life and business. With Rose as a tidy helping hand, he had little left to do but make the cocktails, serve the beer, and kick the last drunk out once it was time to close. And for the first time in years, Harry found himself going home to his wife at a respectable hour. Harry wasn't ashamed to admit he had a soft spot growing for the young woman.

But if a Shelby set his eyes on her, she had a feeling she wouldn't go easy. And because of that, he feared she might just bring in more trouble than she was worth.

He said a quick and silent prayer to God as he filled a bucket with beer. But as Polly had said earlier that day, God didn't take note of the men in Small Heath.

By the end of the night, three pairs of the distinct sharp blue Shelby eyes were on her…

* * *

"There she is." John pointed to the pretty barmaid late that night. Perhaps it was Harry that had done a good job at hiding her, or perhaps she had a secret talent for becoming invincible. Whatever the cause, it was the first time in the month she'd been there that the three brothers got more than a glance of her. They had thought Finn was exaggerating, a young boy's standard for pretty much lower than that of an aged and lustful man, but lo' and behold the boy had almost sold her short. She was a beautiful little thing.

The picture conjured up by the rumors of a whore setting up a brothel and the stories of a mousy young girl Polly daily attended Mass with brought the vision of an older, less refined woman that John personally imagined to have a large nose and small eyes. She was quite the opposite, what with her delicate features and big green eyes...

"I knew bars had rodents, didn't 'ink they got church mice." Their uncle Charlie piped up as he finished his whiskey. Having returned to the pub later in the evening they were in high enough spirits to sits outside the Snug's private walls and amongst the rest of the men. Charlie, along with Arthur, had found his nephews late into the night.

Thomas, despite much of his time being spent in the pub that day, was calm and in control, only a glass and a half of whiskey in his stomach. His younger brother John, however, was more than drowned in his half bottle.

"Do you really think she's a whore?" John asked the men, he'd gladly pay to have her for the night. But somehow the title just didn't seem right looking at her.

"Does she look like a whore?" Arthur grunted.

"Nah, looks like a fookin' angel." John was drunk, not more than he was usually these days. But drunk none the less and it showed in the sloppy way in which he held his head and his beer, hooded eyes watching the barmaid dust and restock the shelves. "Polly says she's a good Catholic girl, prayin' for our souls." He nearly snickered. "Think she could handle the boys?" He pondered to his brothers.

The 'boys' in question were John's three sons that ran wild in the streets, often leaving their baby sister Katie alone, or worse, dragged her along. Other than being too busy, the truth of the matter was taming the hellions was a job no one was really willing to take on. Ever since their mother's death they'd grown a bit feral, resembling much more a pack of wild dogs than a trio of children.

"The Virgin Mary, Joseph, and Jesus him-fucking-self couldn't tame those little shits." Charlie sneered. They were blood. They were blood and he loved 'em, kill for 'em in a heartbeat in fact. But truth be told he'd throttle them just as soon as he'd cut anyone who fucked with 'em.

One could make the connection that their Shelby name certainly did nothing to help tame them. Not only was the hell-raising gypsy wildness in their blood, no one with half a brain and a will to live would raise their hands to the kids.

"You really gonna put that poor woman through that? Marrying your ugly mug alone not bad enough?" Arthur cracked up at his own joke, a bit of self pleasure at John's sneer and a lot of whiskey loosening him up, if only for an hour or two.

"Who says no to the Peaky fookin' Blinders?" John asked as he chewed his toothpick.

Thomas' own head turns just slightly to watch her work as he lit a new cigarette. "She would." He finally commented watched as she bent over a table, that gold cross of hers shimmering in the low light.

He had asked her if she was a whore. It was a question that didn't need answering, only asked to make a point and see what she would do.

Other than the rumors her upfront payment and repeated disappearing act to the upstairs throughout the day had fueled for the women of Small Heath, there was no sign of 'Miss Rosie', as Finn had come to call her, being a whore.

No, Thomas Shelby had seen too many a whore in his day to ever confuse Ms. Pryor for one. She was too clean and tidy to be a whore. Her blonde curls loosely braided over her shoulder, she straightened her pink and cream colored dress as she brushed a loose tendril from her slightly flushed face while her big green eyes cast a glance around the finished stock. No, she was far to pretty to be a whore. She was a little lady. Every movement she made was done with a special air of grace, every smile polite and kind, pleasant yet not inviting enough to encourage anything more than civility between the men and her.

She was a woman who didn't belong in a place like this. Not the Garrison, not Small Heath, not even Birmingham itself.

 _So why was she here?_

Polly had said she was setting up a clinic, Finn and Harry had confirmed. But why, of all the places a clearly educated, upper-class, woman could go, did she choose Small Heath?

It was at this point Polly had gone tight lipped saying something about him understanding if he went to church more. "What's confessed in the church, stays between them and God", she had said. That was the end of the conversation.

It was not the end to Thomas' curiosities.

His blue eyes raked over her body once more, purely in examination. She was a delicate thing, about Ada's height, with peachy skin tinted with a faint flush from work and not a mark on her despite Harry's claim she'd served in Belgium as a nurse. She reminded him of those ballerina figures Ada used to beg for as a child, slim and lean except for a slight curve to her chest, a notable flare to her hips and a rather rounded bottom.

Could she be running from a husband? No, he couldn't imagine any man worth anything hitting something so pretty. Hell, she looked like she might crack under a firm yell as it was. Maybe she was hiding in disgrace? She didn't look like a woman who'd given birth. Didn't seem the type to have an abortion. But perhaps she'd started her close relationship with god after it... The possibilities came and went, each one being tossed aside the longer he studied her.

And while Thomas' stare might have gone unnoticed by Rose, it had not been missed by his brothers. "Oi, watch it there, Johnny-Boy, looks like you've got some competition." Arthur pulled the younger brother close, pointing over the booth at Thomas' watchful gaze. "Seems Tommy's got his eye on this one." He snickered in his drunkenness, a teasing joke between brother meant in good fun and pride at the possible return of the ladies man his younger brother once was.

Thomas made no comment as he smoked his cigarette, his lip twitching up just a bit.

It may have been meant as a joke, but Arthur was right.

There were questions he had. Answers that alluded him. It was sufficient to say that despite Harry's prayers and warning, Thomas Shelby's interested was officially and irrevocably piqued.

Across the bar, Rose's skin tingled. Feeling a stare, she turned to meet it briefly as she untied her apron. Thomas slowly pull the finishing cigarette from his mouth as he watched her. The glance was simple and short-lived, an acknowledgment of his doings as she smiled and bid goodnight to Harry before gracefully walking upstairs to get a bit more work done before she returned home for the evening, the gangster's eyes following her all the way up the stairs till she had truly disappeared from sight.

For a girl who was well skilled in being invisible, her absence was easily felt...

* * *

 **Please Review :)**

 **The response to this story has been amazing thank you so much! Especially those who've reviewed, each one spurs me on a bit faster! But a** ** **HUGE thank yous to INSANITY - BRILLIANCE and It Belongs In A Museum, whos reviews gave me life and reminded me to keep going even if the chapter sucked. Hope I haven't let you down.** I really tried to get this out within 24 hours after but nothing I wrote seemed good enough I had a bit of delay. Alas, it had to be done so apologies for the less than stellar chapter its a mess but its just one chapter of many. Hopefully we can move forward onto the good stuff and all forgiven?**

 **PS:**  
 **For all future records: Anything disparaging I write about a group of people is part of the story, and does not reflect person views, and never, ever, is meant to be used against a group of people or intentionally insult them. I simply go off what the show has shown us of the tense 1920s landscape. I might have said this after a 'rude french people' comment from Rose earlier, but just know it applies to all ethnic groups / religious groups / and sexuality from here on out.**


	3. S1:E0 -:- No Hope in Small Heath

**-:x:-**

With a clean conscious open your mind  
You can walk the simple line  
 _I_ will do your dirty work  
 _You_ can go to heaven.

Sydney Wayser : Dirty Work

* * *

 **A Woman of No Importance**

 **Episode 0**

 **Part III: No Hope in Small Heath**

* * *

She was only one woman. A thin, young, woman with rather limited upper body strength and only two hands. When the clinic opened, she'd need a nurse at least, but would also need an assistant to help her with some of the more grueling tasks, like lifting and transporting patients, and the rare instances of restraining them if the need arose. Yes, she was a proud and capable woman, but Rose Pryor wasn't foolish enough not to know her own physical limitations.

And thus that is how Rose Pryor found much of her week spent, interviewing various men able to do both surgical work and nurse administration. The pool was small enough as it was, but given the low pay, the area, and the fact that she was a woman, most who responded to the advertisement she had placed took one look at her doe eyes and left. Apparently, they could deal with the dangers and the poverty but taking orders from a woman was the straw that broke their fragile-egoed backs.

 _Who needed them_ , she humphed indignantly.

 _She did_ , her mind reminded with a sigh.

"I think that's the last of them." Finn told her as he peeked through the outer door.

The sight of men lined up the outside iron steps, disappearing inside for a few minutes only to come back out, would prove to do her no favors in regards to the nasty rumors being spread. Though there were various versions with slight detail changes all remained generally the same: Rose Pryor was a fancy whore for hire. And apparently everyone _except_ her knew it.

God, how she was beginning to hate this place.

The only saving grace to it being Harry, Finn, and Polly it seemed.

Harry had been a great help in making the days seem to go faster. Always offering to loan his help and distracting her with more mindless work and funny tales of some of the odder things that had happened in his long-standing pub. He was a sweet thing, scaring off men who looked at her a little too long or touched her a little less politely, he looked out for her in his own way, trying to help the pretty flower that had found itself buried in the coal covered field of Small Heath. And while she secretly resented his low opinion of her strength, she knew her life would be much harder without his help.

But it was Polly she had come to rely on most. Not only did she share in the heavy knowledge of her secret burden, she was an older motherly figure constantly telling her how to 'survive' in Small Heath. Their daily church sessions slowly progressing into impromptu lessons and gossip sessions. Although it wasn't very god-loving of her, she couldn't help but rather enjoy how the woman was more than eager to share the dirt on some of the same women who scoffed at her on the street. It made her feel stronger, unbothered by their false whispers when she had the power to hurt them just as much. She would _never_ , of course. But the knowledge that she _could…_ It brought a smirk to her face when they crossed paths. And then there was the help she had so graciously given, sending her boys and men to help her set up the clinic.

She looked to the six beds that lined the clinic's long wall. The heavy but sturdy metal frames slightly shining with their new white paint. Each tightly made with white linen and accompanied by a small bedside table. Then her eyes traveled back to the shelving unit she stood in front of, a heavy but sturdy oak.

Yes, there was only so much Rose could do, any offer of help was gladly accepted as her pridefulness kept her from asking for it. Alas, her pride could only go so far. She needed help. She needed _strong_ help.

And more than just the offering of a ten-year-old boy, no matter how much she was growing to love him.

Finn, the little gentleman, was always well behaved in her presence. "Yes, Miss", "No, Miss", "Thank you" and "Please", these fine manners always brought a swell of warmth to her heart as he was one of the few that gave her the common courtesy of respect she'd surely been lacking in this town. And the eagerness in which he had to help was only eclipsed by his thirst for knowledge. Admittedly he didn't know how to read just yet but seeing all the books they had sorted and stacked into the thick bookshelves in her office had made his eyes light up like she'd never seen. As per a promise, she'd soon begin teaching him to read once things had settled with the clinic.

But for now, she was relying on his ability to add. With the last of the potentials gone, she and Finn returned to the dispensary stock. He was quite the little helper, eager to be of use since his own family's business was deemed none of his most days. At least until he was older...

"Seven cases, but in this place, I could probably use to double it." She thought aloud looking at the stock of black ointment.

"What's it for?"

"Syp-" Rose stopped herself, looking down at Finn's innocent face. "It's to help ease Syphilis." She said hesitantly, afraid by answering one question it would bring up more. "It's a grown-up disease. But it's very contagious. And very painful."

"I know, Arthur says the whores used to be lousy with it in-"

"Finn!" She scolded roughly. "Prostitutes." She corrected him. "They are prostitutes, just like I'm a doctor, and you're a child. It's a job, not an estimate of worth. I don't want you using that word anymore, alright? Certainly not around me. It's rude, and crude, and just… in poor taste, alright?" She softened her scolding tone knowing he probably didn't know better.

"Yes, Miss Rosie." Finn was quick to nod in hopes it would blow over. He didn't want Miss Rosie cross with him but more importantly, he didn't want her talking to Aunt Polly or Arthur and letting it slip that he'd been eavesdropping when he heard it. Aunt Polly would have his hide then.

Rosie sighed, combing back his hair with her fingers fondly, the scolding forgotten as she returned to work. "What was I saying?" She looked back at the dispensary shelf. "Right, double the Black Ointment." She instructed him, the tapping of scribbles against paper following. Usually, she'd make a note to check the stock when he'd be gone but while Finn was lousy at reading, he was rather gifted in maths. A perk of coming from a family of bet takers and book keepers, she supposed.

A sharp trio of knocks sounded through the clinic. Taking the pencil from Finn's hand she called for the knocker to come in. She looked up from making a quick list of things still needed to see yet another hopeful in her doorway.

He was a lanky thing, not much wider than herself, but what he lacked in width he more than made up for in height. He could be considered attractive she supposed, even in his obviously older age. He had tanned skin with a few clear wrinkles over a rather long square jaw, kind brown eyes, and long crooked nose. Large protruding ears stuck out from beneath his dark brown hair, with an equally as dark mustache over his rather oddly thin lips that went over the sides of his mouth and curved slightly upwards. It acted as a sort of smile on his otherwise expressionless face. "Excuse me. I am looking for the doctor?" He had a thick Russian accent over his airy voice.

"Whatchu want?" Finn asked rudely. Rose spared him a quick disapproving glance, his manners towards her did not seem to go to others. "Whatchu want, _sir_?" He looked to her for approval. The doctor sighed faintly. At least it was a start...

"How can I help you?" She placed her hand on Finn's shoulder, gently pushed the boy away and behind her, effectively conveying his opinions were not her own. Finn still gave the Russian a nasty look from around her back.

"I'm here to see the doctor." His thin lips gave a smile.

"I'm the doctor." Rose corrected with a friendly smile as she approached. That smile; however, began to slip from her face when he looked at her as if confused. " _I_ am the doctor." She annunciation louder. His brows furrowed, his snake like lips opened and puckered, still not understanding. "I _am_ the doctor!" Her head nodded as she stared up at him, attempting to will him into accepting it or leaving as others had. She would not repeat it again.

His beady black eyes lowered to her feet, up her skirt, over her chest to settle on her irate face. "Forgive me." He shook himself of his stupor. "It's just that...you look like a student."

It was a bit surprising, expecting the 'woman' comment that so many others had clearly pointed out. "Well, yes." She cleared her throat and tried to hold a firmer neutral expression. "That's because I _was_ a medical student but now I have graduated and am _here_. Being _the doctor_." She reaffirmed once more.

"Doctor Rose Pryor." She extended her hand.

"Demyan Lukich: Feldsher, field doctor." He, too, stressed the title as his much larger hand completely wrapped around her own. "American?!" He asked.

"Yes."

"Oh you must tell me how things are in America. Tell me _everything_!"

"Oh have you been?" She couldn't help but keep glancing from his eyes to his hand, still wrapped around her own and shaking.

"No." The shaking finally stopped. "You must tell me _everything_."

She opened her mouth, taking a long inhale of air, but found herself not knowing where to start. Instead, she changed the subject. "Right." She quickly exhaled, "Well, would you care for a tour of the clinic now?" She stepped aside.

"Yes, I think _the doctor_ would." Rose's eye gave an involuntary twitch. "Lead on and the _doctor_ will follow." He annunciation the word the same way she had, slowly and deliberately as if to correct a child.

A tightly pinched smile marked her usually lovely face, the pencil still in hand straining under the force.

"Well, clearly this is the patient's recover-"

"So what is the capacity?" He looked over the row of bed unimpressed, eyes wandering to the doors at the back of the clinic. "Thirty-five? Forty patients at a pinch?"

Rose looked at him with a startled expression. "Six." She looked back to the beds. "Seven at most." Thinking about the surgical room. _By god, forty?_ Was he out of his mind?

The Feldsher gave a disappointed hum. "Leopold Leopoldovitch would often have fifty in."

"Would he?" She wondered dully, not knowing who that was. She had foolishly voiced this.

"Oh, he is the best doctor in Russia, brilliant, brilliant man!" Demyan gloated proudly, "I worked by his side for many, many years." He seemed pleased as his brows raised and a smug look came across his face.

"Wonderful." She walked past him to the far end of the clinic, the back wall holding two doors, one in the middle of the wall and one close to its corner.

The one in the middle opened to reveal a rather large room that took up a good third of the clinic's space.

"The surgical theater." She stepped aside to let him enter. By far the room in the most disarray, surgical tools and equipment sat along various counter-tops and the surgical bed, shamefully showing her not yet finished preparation while also showing the vastness of her tools. Though it might not be a hospital, she was ready for nearly anything, and for that, she gave a small smile.

"Oh, you have a marvelous stock of instruments." His hand greedily ran along the shiny metal.

"Thank you." Her grin was genuine, it had cost many pretty pennies and a rather reluctant letter pleading to her father for help, but seeing them all ready if needed was worth it.

"Reminds me of Leopold Leopoldovitch." Her grin froze before becoming sour on her face. She looked away as it dropped completely, biting the inside of her lip. He was only one of three they had stayed around long enough to be given a tour, and for that she pushed past her slight annoyance.

"Leopold Leopoldovitch, wouldn't approve but he was in theater from dawn 'till dusk."

"Was he?" It hurt to smile when all she wanted to do was sneer. Her eyes narrowed in thought, glancing him over. She had no judgment if he was, but she wondered if perhaps his clear fondness was born of a love between the two. Lovers separated, he might miss him terribly, Rose softened at the thought. Sympathy overtook her annoyance.

"Wow look at this stuff!" He picked up one of the sharp instruments, feeling the balance of it in his hand. "En garde!" He pointed it at her in jest.

"Carefull!" She scolded him much like she had Finn when he'd done something similar. "You could take an eye out!"

Demyan gave a hearty chuckle. "No, miss, that's what this is for!" He held up an eye retractor, realization crossing his face. "Oh that's right, this is all new for you, isn't it?"

He looked sympathetic as a livid flush tinted her cheeks. Her fury was mistaken for humble embarrassment.

"Oh don't you worry, miss, I'm sure you'll start getting familiar with them in time." He patted her shoulder in a fatherly way as he passed. For a moment she stood completely still. Her eyes twitched, as the pencil she had held in her fist broke under her tight grip.

Shamefully, she resentfully thought of Michael. She was left to make amends and do his dirty work while he rested peacefully in heaven. "God help me." She breathed out.

She was really, _really_ , starting to hate this place.

* * *

Rose closed the door behind the other doctor with a near slam, her back resting against it as she turned towards the lord for patience and strength once more.

"I don't like 'im, Miss Rosie." Finn said as she entered her office. He sat on her desk, legs swinging impatiently as he was forced to wait out of sight. A book he had no hope of understanding was opened, showing the illustration of the throat's anatomy in his lap. Rose didn't even scold him, simply grabbed it and closed it as she leaned against the desk beside him.

"Neither do I, Finn." She sighed. "But I _need_ him." She groaned.

There was a very limited number of men that had shown interest in the clinic.

As much as she hated to admit it, oh how she _loathed_ to even _think it_ , Doctor Demyan Lukich seemed the most prominent candidate with his field training, strength, and experience.

Then again, how often would a true medical emergency come to her when there was a fully functioning hospital just a few miles away… "Maybe not." She brightened.

"You do." Finn reminded.

At her sharp, almost betrayed look, the boy simply shrugged, only able to go off what she'd told him earlier that day.

She cradling her fallen head in her hands, the book knocking against her temple which caused a sudden thought struck her. Her head lifted and her curiosity turned towards Finn. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Yeah." He answered so casually. No point in lying, he thought. But he'd rather be here with her.

Rose and he shared an awkward quiet moment as they stared at each other waiting, Finn's feet kicking and swinging innocently. "Finn?"

"Yes, Miss Rosie?" He smiled hopefully.

"Go to School." She gently pushed him from her desk.

"But I like it better here." He looked at her with rich pleading blue eyes.

"But I like it better when you're there." She grabbed his shoulders, turning him and leading him out her office. "If you want to be a doctor you have to be educated." She grabbed his flat cap from the chair and put it in his hands. She had sorrows to drown, orders to make, and a surgical room that needed organizing. All of which had to be done before she was needed in the bar...

"How long does that take?"

"Many, many years. Best to get started now." She nudged him out her office door. But before she could close it he turned on her with those big eyes once more, his hands tightly holding onto his flat cap nervously.

"Are you gonna still be here then?"

It was such a simple question, she was nearly tricked into saying yes.

But when Rose opened her mouth to answer she couldn't make the word come out. She froze at the implication of the question. She hadn't really thought past a few years to be honest. And the people's treatment of her was more than a bit lackluster. Could she really even stay here for three years? The idea of even more made her stomach feel a bit queasy.

But Finn was still waiting patiently, his feet shuffling back and forth as he held his breath. Seeing the alarm grow on his face she bent at the waist to meet his height. With kind eyes and a warm smile she could only reassure him she'd be there when he got back. Back from school or back from medical college was for him to interpret. "Now off you go." She waved him out before returning to put the book away.

* * *

Finn had little intention of actually following through with the order, spending the day playing by the cut with his friend Isaiah seemed much more appealing, but when he opened the door to find his older brother there he knew those plans were dashed.

"What are you doing, Finn?" Thomas asked as he took off his cap.

"Helping Miss Rosie."

Thomas didn't even need to check his pocket watch to know his brother should be out learning. "Off to school with you." He ordered, using the soft back of the cap to whack his head scoldingly. Finn never disobeyed an order from him, his hero worship of his elder brother making it impossible to ignore. The youngest Shelby brother jogged away quickly, leaving Thomas seemingly alone in the clinic.

He vaguely remembered the days when it used to be just another level of the once overly popular pub. But that was before the war. Before the pub, like the Kingdom as a whole, lost a third of its drinking men.

It had sat here, wasted, slowly collecting dust and rats for years. Though you wouldn't know it by looking at it now.

The polished floors, the streakless windows, the shining new tables and beds and cabinets... All dressed invitingly in white sheets and pale curtains. Like Miss Pryor, it was too clean for the likes of the coal and smoke-stained city.

It even smelled better than most, his nose catching a light whiff of something floral, yet he found no flowers in the space. His wandering eyes suddenly stopped when they crossed a figure waiting silently in the doorway.

God, she really lived up to the 'quiet as a church mouse' saying. The only mouse in this clinic left by the looks of it, he thought to himself.

"Can I help you?" Her face neither happy nor fearful of his presence as she looked him over. "Are you ill?" She asked gently. That's when he noticed it. The gentle undertone of displeasure at his presence.

Thomas simply took stock of her. Her blonde curls were left to flow down her back, securely tied atop the back of her head with a ribbon of some sort, a few loose tendrils around her face. She wore a light peach dress today. It's conservative neckline dipping just below her throat, with a fit that hugged her hips and waist, showing her feminine curves while left to drape loosely around her legs, the fabric swaying with her steps.

His wandering eyes made her clear her throat impatiently, and he spared her a simple glance before his gaze shifted to the area around her, once more exploring the clinic's prime condition.

"Have you come to apologize?" She looked him over in his usual grey suit. For a supposedly ruthless gang, the "Peaky Blinders" as she was told they were called, always looked dapper in their sturdy three-piece suits and flat caps, none more so than the Shelby men.

"No." He said simply. Honestly not knowing what she thought he should be apologizing for but certainly not going to entertain the idea of it. "But I have come for you." His eyes found their way back to her.

"Mr. Shelby, I thought we've already established I'm not a whore." _Ah, so that's what had her so miffed..._ "So if you're not ill, or not here on behalf of someone who is, I'll kindly ask you to-"

"We have business to talk about." He mumbled when he put a cigarette between his lips, searching for a match to light it.

"We don't have _business_ at all, Mr. Shelby."

"Oh, I think we do."

A tense silence settled between them, Thomas smoking as if he didn't have a care in the world as Rose stood there stubbornly.

She was the one to break the silence, an attempt on her part to gain control of the conversation. "Tea?" She offered.

He was never a tea man. "Whiskey?" He supplied.

" _Tea._ " She offered more firmly. Her disapproval was clear. The fact it was ten in the morning had not escape her.

Thomas watched as she poured her own from a teapot on a shelf. Her asking was a politeness. As was his acceptance. Though he was never one for tea, he gave a simple nod. He saw no reason to ruffle her feathers more so just yet.

The cup remained on the table in front of him, untouched as he continued to smoke. An ashtray was pulled from a drawer and placed pointedly in front of him. He flicked the ash into the brass container.

"What business do you think you have here, Mr. Shelby?" She let him take the chair beside the table, preferring to stand above him with arms crossed. She used the high difference to her advantage, staring him down as he casually crossed one leg over the other. Yet somehow, even with him below her, he gazed up at her with a steely expression that made her feel small.

She realized it wasn't just his stance that was intimidating, but the entirety of his presence itself. Like a caged lion or a coiled cobra. Advantage or not, you didn't feel the need to get too close.

Thomas Shelby had little need to yell, but when talking to the good doctor he found his voice even softer than expected. "My men are fighting men. And fighting men are bleedin' men." He explained as simple as he could. "Those bleedin' men will come here to stop bleedin." He tapped the end of his cigarette once more, watching the ash fall neatly into the tray. "There will be no questions." His eyes never left hers. "There will be no charge." Her own brow raised in debate. "And there will be no talking to the police." At this, his gravelly voice took a firmer tone. "And in return for this service: there will be no trouble for you or your shiny new clinic."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Shelby?" She remained composed, even as her back straightened.

"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, I'm offering you a business agreement." The cigarette returned to his lips. "Harry tells me you're fond of those." He mumbled around it.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. "No."

"No?" His head tilted back, honestly surprised by the strength of the statement.

"No, I refuse to do ' _business_ ' with a man who has no intention to uphold his end of the agreement."

"You think so little of us?" The cigarette was nearly dead, left to hand between his lips. It gave a small jump as his mouth lifted the corners of their own accord.

"Not ' _us_ ', just you. I don't trust a man who can't even apologize."

"What is it I have to apologize for, Miss Pryor?"

"You called me a whore."

"I _asked_ if you were a whore." He corrected.

"Do I look like a whore?" No. She looked soft, and sweet, and too beautiful to be a whore. Just as she had that night. But Thomas couldn't very well tell her that, so he remained silent. "Then you had no need to ask."

"Perhaps I was hopeful." His head tilted to the side, eyes flickering down her lean but softly curved body before settling on the faint blush forming on her cheeks. "You caught my brother's eye." His as well...

"I doubt I'm his type."

"What's his type?" He wondered.

"A woman who's dress comes off before a ring goes on." She flatly informed him, only confirming the suspicions of her good Catholic girl appearance. Without meaning to his eyes dropped to her hips and loose skirt. He nearly told her the dress rarely had to come off for such activities but thought better of it. "You didn't ask for your brother, you asked because you're the man who likes to shake the beehive and see who runs and who swats when they start swarming." She glowered at him. "You intentionally were rude to me and I'm waiting for an apology."

"Do I look the type of man who apologizes, Miss Pryor?" Thomas dropped his finished cigarette into the brass tray. Pulling his pocket watch out, he checked the time. He had places to be.

Standing up he passed her with an intent to leave when he smelt it again. Floral, light, sweet… He came a bit closer, noticing the source of the smell was Rose herself. The floral scent was not her namesake, however. Much like the essence of the woman it was light and airy, a faint pleasant breeze against the nose.

His eyes seemed to soften as he stared at her, and Rose, remembering Harry's warnings, shifted away. She had forgotten; however, her limited space for movement. Her back gently hit the wall.

 _"They'll have you up against a wall"_ , he had warned her so aptly. Unintentionally, her eyes slightly widened as her breath held. The sudden shift from confidence to fear made his gut pull. Thomas took a step back, his eyes wandering around the room once more in an attempt to give her the room she clearly desired without giving away he'd caught her fear. Sure enough, Rose found it a happy coincidence, but made quick work and walking around him, into the more open space of the room.

"Are you afraid of me, Miss Pryor?" He asked.

"No." She said firmly. It was both truth and lie. Though he was rude and intimidating, there was something about his eyes, his posture, that told her he wouldn't harm her, she realized. Intimidate, yes, strike or touch in an ungentlemanly way... she honestly believed not. "Do I have reason to be?"

"Why would you? I'm a man who drinks tea." His head quickly bobbed in the direction of the cup. It was a humorous attempt, subtle and demure, that was meant to ease the tension from her slight frame as his own gaze softened a bit.

It worked, and the corner of her mouth twisted in slight amusement as she relaxed.

But it was this momentary lapse on his own part that allowed her to see through his shield. Without his intense gaze, his eyes looked tired, Rose just realizing the dark circles under his eyes that only seemed to enhance the blue stare and high cheekbones they rested between. He looked exhausted. Always guarded, alert, controlled….but exhausted all the same.

"You're not sleeping well are you?" Green eyes softly studied the bags under his eyes. "Is it the nightmares?"

That softness was gone the moment his eyes snapped back to hers. "What do you know about nightmares?" His chin raised, challenging her.

More than he knew.

"Do you believe in God?" She switched the subject.

Thomas's head lulled back slightly, not wanting to play this game of back and forth questions. "No." He said definitely, intending to leave it there.

"No, as in _never_? Or no, as in _since you came back_?" He didn't respond that time, his eyes studying her soft features. She looked worried. _For_ him rather than _about_ him.

"Me myself, I find comfort in God. I've always found confession to sooth the soul, in more ways than one."

"Nice to know." He began to walk to the door, Rose following behind him.

"Confession, has this negative connotation to it doesn't it?" She smiled slightly. "Confess, confess, such a harsh word which implies such horribly ungodly things. But the truth is it simply means admitting or acknowledge something reluctantly, typically because one feels slightly ashamed or embarrassed." She looked him dead in the eyes when he turned beside the door. "Like perhaps you're not as alright or put together as you'd like the world to think."

"God's been gone from here for a long time."

"Than as an intelligent, educated man, believe in medicine." She spoke softly, the ten feet between them not needing her to shout. "I'm sure you'd seen it in the trenches, wounds heal over at first glance, but there's an infection beneath. So you cut it up, drain the infection, poke, push, squeeze, if you need to, but empty the wound. Only then can it really heal. It's only then that the pain stops."

Truth was, he was tired. There was a constant ache in his bones, a war in his head, the sound of shovels scraping the walls echoing in his ears whenever he closed his eyes.

She could see it. At least she thought she did, a small glint of hope, an ease in his eyes. "Thomas." She said his name so softly. He was considering it…

If only for a moment. But there was still such kindness in her eyes and warmth in her smile, he wasn't going to be the one to ruin it.

He didn't have to be.

The door beside him opened roughly. Her slight smile fell when an old pot-bellied gentleman walked in, his eyes searching the room almost in confusion before settling on her.

"Are you the whore e'eryone keeps talkin' 'bout?" He was clearly more than a touch intoxicated.

The warmth in her features left like a blown out fire. "NO." She snapped, loudly, clearly, firmly, with no hesitancy whatsoever.

Rose's face flushed when he gave a filthy leer, his crooked teeth on full display as he looked her up and down, his eyes alone making her feel as if he was groping at her. "Do you wanna be?" He adjusted himself crudely, and Rose's body tensed and stepped back. Humiliated at the complete lack of civility in which the men in this town regarded her with.

Finn had asked her if she planned to be here for many years. The truth of the matter was at this rate she didn't want to be here for any time at all. Would this be her life? Sneered upon by women who thought her a whore, talked down to by men meant to be below her, and humiliated daily with crude words and wandering hands and eyes.

She had always considered herself stronger than that, but the idea of that life pained her, tearing her in two between staying and fulfilling the dream of a friend or running back to the civilized and familiar comfort of home. Rose unknowingly curled in on herself, leaning against the wall as if wishing for it to swallow her whole.

Her expression was sad, and slightly pained, and so out of place on her lovely face.

It immediately managed to turn Tommy's mood sour.

His hand shot out, closing the door the short man had attempted to open with a resounding thud, trapping him there.

Rose startled at the sound and looked up to see Thomas's eyes searching hers. The blue gaze turned sharply to the man, a good head shorter than him. They cut like a steel knife, almost unnoticeable the first second before the tingle of pain became seering. "Apologize to the lady." His rough voice was soft, his command needing no yell or threaten to follow. The tightened jaw on his otherwise expressionless face saying it all.

The man gulped heavily, recognizing who it was. The two glinting razor blades sown to his cap might as well have been the King's crown themselves. Thomas fucking Shelby. His mistake realized, his beady eyes moved from the gangster to the doctor. Rose straightened off the wall to stand with full attention, equally as surprised and tensely waiting.

Thomas looked very much like a snake about to strike, coiled and still, but with a sudden air of danger to him that made you wait with baited breath. He made the slightest and slowest lean towards him. He wouldn't ask again...

"M-my dee-epest apologies, m-miss." He looked to Thomas for some sort of approval, only for him to look to the doctor.

Rose froze, staring back at those waiting blue eyes before his brow raised, asking a silent question. _Did she accept the apology?_ Snapping back to attention, she shifted her weight and cleared her throat, attempting to look more authoritative then she knew she was at the moment. "That's alright." She accepted the forced apology gracefully. "But I'd appreciated if you shared the message." She nodded to them both, seeing no reason not to use this opportunity to nip this nasty rumor in the bud. "I'm a doctor, not a whore."

But the elder man had no care for her, his eyes firmly trained on Thomas who kept his eyes on her before finally looking at him. The balding man nearly jumped from his skin the way those blue eyes seemed to cut back to him, like the razors sown above his cap: sharp, and cold, and ready to cut his tongue out if need be.

Thomas straightened, easing away from the door, and gave a single head tilt for him to leave. The drunken slob ripped the door open and scurried away like one of Small Heath's black rats.

A voice so soft he nearly missed it, made him pause. "Thank you." He scanned her over, assured she was no longer distressed before giving her a nod himself and taking his leave.

It was not the apology she had demanded from him, but it was the closest she knew she'd get from him yet. Staring at the closed door, she was finally left alone in her clinic. The good doctor couldn't stop a smile from blooming on her face.

Perhaps Small Heath held hope yet...

* * *

 **Please Review :)**

 **Thomas Shelby is so hard to write especially in such a scene so please be gentle in your critique, I know it was a bit eh in places. Thank you again for all the interest and _especially_ reviews to this story. They mean a lot to me and I take each one to heart so please don't be shy to comment or suggest something. I've added a bit of humor to this chapter so the story wasn't so heavy all the time, but don't think her struggles are over. This is just the beginning... So, how do you feel about this shift between Tommy and Rose's relationship? :)**


	4. S1:E0 -:- A Good Time To Start

***WARNING: Vivid speak of bodily harm and surgical procedures.*  
**

 **-:x:-**

And I am lower now and lower still,  
And you did always say that one day I would suffer,  
Did always say that people get their pay.  
You did always say that I was going places,  
And that you wouldn't have it any other way.  
But I couldn't turn my back on the world for what I like, wouldn't let me.  
But I couldn't turn my back on the world for what I like, I needed.

Laura Marling : Blackberry Stone

* * *

 **A Woman of No Importance**

 **Episode 0**

 **Part IV: A Good Time To Start**

* * *

It'd been weeks since she last wrote to her father. The shame of having to ask for more money still fresh in her mind. He'd already supplied the rent and equipment for this little 'charity mission' as he'd called it. The eagerness with which he had complied making her flinch. He never was one to say no to his only living child. Still, the guilt weighed heavily on her as she yet again asked for more. She'd returned the _investment_ , she'd made sure to make that clear, but with no patients yet income was near nothing and the staff would need their wages. After thanking him profusely, she began to update him on the status of her project.

The clinic had opened to a slow start. The small team had offered free health expections to infants and expecting mothers. Slowly, they began to lift their image and trust in the community. A task harder than one might expect.

Rose's pen lifted as her grip tightened, a surge of annoyance making her eyes close.

The rumors of Rose's 'brothel' still remained, despite her hopefulness.

These rumors were only further inflamed when Rose hired young Alice Burke as the clinic's nurse and midwife in training. With her tall, large breasted, voluptuous figure and rather plain face, unlike Rose, Alice was easy to mistake for a whore. Which wasn't entirely untrue considering how she used to make her living… But Rose had assured her she cared little. A few years younger than herself, the nurse was freshly graduated and eager for honest wholesome work, even for their modest pay.

But there was one silver lining to the whole mess. The drunkard had indeed taken Thomas' and her warning, spreading the message to working and poor classes. Apparently, Rose Pryor was not a common whore, oh no, she was _Thomas Shelby's_ whore.

She wasn't sure whether to be pleased or furious.

On one hand, her reputation was still unfairly tarnished. She was beginning to make peace with that.

The people still whisper and sneered, she was sure, but never to her face. Women no longer gave her displeased looks, and men no longer reached for her in the bar or came looking for cheap pleasures in her clinic. Rose Pryor was now untouchable.

However, anytime she worked in the bar, the slightest movement towards her on Thomas' behalf was carefully watched, studied almost, as if waiting to be confirmed or denied. Even Harry began to believe the story, Thomas Shelby wasn't exactly a gentleman nor was he a complete monster, but when he'd hold the door open for her, patiently waiting, nodding at her thankful smile, it was almost...surreal.

The barkeep, much like Polly, never voiced his opinion or questions about this story either way. He had warned her himself from the very start. If he wanted her, there was nothing anyone could do about it. Still, he seemed a bit more guarded around Rose, his request for assistance in the pub much more hesitant than it had been. It infuriated her, thinking she was losing one of the few friends she had in this pit of despair named Small Heath.

Rose sighed. She stared at the letter on her desk, pen poised at the ready. Somethings her father didn't need to know about…

She glanced out the small window behind her, eyes searching the stormy street, thick with black mud and filth. Talk of weather had always dulled her senses but with little else to tell him she wrote about it anyways.

Rose's quiet was interrupted by an unsettling scream, so out of place in the muffled rainy day she thought she'd imagined it for a minute. Her pen stilled and her head raised, eyes going to the small window to see it still raining heavily.

Just as she was about to return to her writing, a haunting wail came from the streets below, the intensity of which cut through the noisy city streets and into the quiet clinic. That, she knew she hadn't imagined. She was already up from her chair when Alice slammed the door open, an unsure and panicked expression on her face. "Doctor!" She panted. "Help!" Was all she managed before running back out.

"Let me go! I need to see the doctor!" A straining voice crackled through the once quiet clinic.

"I'm here. What is it?" Her eyes widened seeing a man not much taller than herself being raised in the air by Demyan's tight embrace, his feet flying as he wailed hysterically, trying to get out of the large man's hold. His tattered rain-drenched clothes dripped around him, his heavily black-bearded face, further streaked with dirt and coal, seemed to make his wide and panicked eyes even more unsettling.

"He's deranged," Demyan warned. Rose had to believe him right. The older man looked like a caught fox ready to chew it's leg off as he screamed unintelligibly.

"I'll give him a sedative." Rose turned her back to collect it, missing how his flailing legs had kicked at Demyan's groin. The Feldsher gasped soundlessly and dropped him.

Turning at the sound of the large Russian hitting the floor, she found the crazed man barreling towards her. Alice gave a small startled scream, jumping out of the way as Rose was forced back into the wall. The man fell to his knees before her, clutching her legs like his only lifeline as he begged. His crying and moaning made his already heavy accent hard to understand as he begged unintelligibly.

"Demyan! The Sedative!" She ordered, eyes flickering to between the two men. Alice began searching for the Chloroform in the dispensary as Demyan struggled to stand, his face tinted purple and his hand cradling his groin.

Wailing and begging, the anguished man made the sign of the cross over himself. "What have I done? Tell me!" He screamed to the heavens, and the doctor.

"Nothing, nothing, it's going to be alright." She hollered to the lunatic as he shook her, nearly toppling her before she slid down the wall.

"Help me, doctor!" He gripped her face, making her eyes go wide as he squished her delicate features, her head throbbing when he shook it in his mania. "I give you money, food, anything!" He wept. Rose used all her strength to pry his hand from her face, holding them as far away as her arms could stretch. He continued to cry, now slumming himself over her. Rose's limited upper body strength caused her to scream at the sudden added weight, her stretched and trembling arms the only thing keeping him from collapsing on her fully.

She tried to reason with him, as Alice and Demyan poured the chloroform. "Yes, yes, but let us calm you down first!" Wide green eyes turned to them desperately, knowing she couldn't hold him away much longer and fearful what he might do.

With a nod, Demyan came from behind, one arm wrapping around his throat, pulling him up and away from the little lady as his other hand pressed the soaked cloth over his mouth and nose firmly. He looked a bit pleased with his own revenge as he let the man's body fall carelessly to the hard floor.

Alice crossed herself, thanking God it was over, as Rose and Demyan panted.

"Good." The Russian looked him over, studiously. "Now I can get to the bottom of his psychological troubles." He turned to Rose still braced against the wall. "I got a five on my public exam for psychiatry." He grinned proudly, never one to let a bragging opportunity go to waste. "Leopold Leopoldovich always said I was gifted in the medicine of the mind." He sighed the name as he always had, not catching the odd look Alice threw at him or how Rose's startled expression turned to annoyance at the mention of the name at once.

Assuming the women's looks of disapproval came from poor manners he gave a soft gasp before reaching down to help the doctor up. "Apologies. Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine." She waved their concern off. "And you? Alice?" She questioned them as she tried to find her balance. She was a bit shaken from the ordeal.

Physically so.

Her hand pressed against her throbbing head, her vision a bit blurry as the room spun. She heard vague mumbles of affirmation.

"Yes, this promises to be a most interesting case," Demyan observed the passed out man.

Rose bent beside him, nearly falling over in her dizzy state before bracing herself on her knees. She checking him over for any visible injuries, but as her face leaned closer his eyes suddenly snapped open, startling them all.

"She fell in 'he lave." He said lowly, hollowly, his crackled voice tarnished by his screams. "She's all I 'ave. Don't let 'er die." He gasped, staring at her hollowly.

The Russian's brows furrowed in confusion. "In the lave?" He repeated. "What do you suppose that could mean?" He, like the women, had never heard the word used as a noun before, wondering if it was a term of the areas people like ' _the cut_ '.

But Rose's attention was on the who, not the what. " _She?_ " She questioned him. "Sir? Sir?" His eyes were focused on the ceiling, his mouth moving in an inaudible prayer. She snapped her fingers, regaining his attention. "She? Who's _she_?" She asked harder.

"My daughter." He croaked.

A cold shiver moved through her spine at a glance at the empty clinic before them. "Alice, check outside!" She ordered the nurse.

"Lave, lave…" Demyan was still behind, one hand tucked under arm as the other stroked the curls of his mustache in thought. "Perhaps a bathtub?" He thought aloud.

"Where is she?" Rose gently slapped the father's face, her brows deeply furrowed.

Alice answered for him. "Here, doctor." She stood at the outer clinic door looking pale and sorrowful as she watched someone come up the stairs in the harsh rains. "I doubt a bathtub could do that."

Immediately, Rose straightened, the father forgotten.

A man, around his age, larger and sturdier than his predecessor entered the hospital a bit out of breath, a large blanketed bundle in his arms.

Long vibrant red hair spilled over one side of his arms while blue tinted legs hung over the other.

Small and thin, they hung limply, blood and bone clear from the torn flesh and socks.

Her heart stopped seeing the state of them, knowing immediately they'd lost their use. She understood. "Oh." And with that same lowly hollowness, corrected them. "The _lathe._ "

"Oh dear." Demyan sighed. He'd seen many a similar wounds in his time in Russia.

Now was not the time for pity. She snapped to attention.

"Don't stand there, bring her in!" Motioning for him to bring her further inside the warm clinic instead of standing by the open door.

"Close the door." She ordered Alice, still stunned speechless. "Prep the morphine. Demyan, prep the tools." She began messily braiding her hair behind her head, as she came to the girl. "And get him up!" She ordered Alice, dagger-like eyes pointing to the father still lying in the room.

"What's her name?" Rose asked him softly as she pulled back the wool blanket protecting her from the rain. It was soaked, and cold as ice, doing the girl no favors. She took note of the blue tint to her lips.

"Melissa, miss." He sniffled. "She's all my brother has." She was a pretty little thing, no more than ten. Rose's finger gently pressed against her cheek and trailed down. She was cold to the touch, and her finger left a streak of white skin behind it. She'd lost so much blood, Rose had to focus to find a pulse against her neck. There but faint… "You'll save her won't you?" The Uncle's face twisted at a new onset of hot tears. Rose's hand jerked back, her head tilting up to see his pleading eyes. Unlike Melissa's father, he held hope.

"I'm - I'm going to try." She promised. "Bring her this way." She led him to the surgical room, instructing him to lie her flat on the table as she and Demyan helped. "Watch her legs." She chastised at Demyan's rather harsh grip. Just because the girl was unconscious didn't mean she wasn't in agonizing pain.

"Not much left of them." He heartlessly commented, a sob wrenched from her uncle's lips, at the quiet comment.

Shooting him a lethal look no one would expect from her she softened as she turned to the family. "You need to go." She pitied the man deeply, but she needed focus. From first look, she knew... the girl's legs would have to come off.

No person should ever have to see that, let alone a father to his daughter, or an uncle.

Rose grabbed his arm, trying to pull him out the door as Demyan injected the morphine.

"We'll be awhile. Go to the bar below. Tell-tell the barkeep Rose sent you and she'll pay the bill." But he continued to stare at the little girl, lying to motionlessly as Alice took off her shoes and cut away pieces of her sock. "Please." Rose tried nicely. Luckily Demyan stepped forward. "I'm sorry, you must leave." Demyan pushed the father out of the surgical theater as Alice helped Rose into her surgical apron.

"We'll keep you informed, now you must trust the doctor and leave." He left to take the men downstairs, Alice helping Rose into her surgical apron. "Start the tourniquet, both legs, then get comfortable, I'll need you to keep her pulse checked." She fired out as she washed her hands.

 _So this is what it looks like_ , Rose thought morbidly. To watch a girl torn to shreds, slip into the next world… There was barely a drop of blood left in her, the iodine soaked gauze Alice placed, coming away with only a slight tint to pink to its dark brown. Rather unexpected, since half her shins were torn and chipped pieces barely held together.

"He said she's their only child?" She asked Alice.

"His only child. He's a widower." Alice corrected. "They live in a workhouse, the three of 'em. They go to my church." Alice grimaced a smile as she sat on a tall stool, not unlike Rose's, her hand patiently and steadily at the girl's wrist.

"Is she alive?" She asked as Demyan returned, washing up himself to assist and learn. She'd burn in hell for it, but she was almost hoping she wasn't. No such luck...

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid she is." Alice stroked the unconscious girl's hair softly, one hand steadily on her pulse point, faint but there. "It's horrific." Her eyes watered unable to look down at it.

Rose could understand. There was something unholy about a wound on a child.

"I've seen worse." The doctor admitted softly. She's seen men with their legs blown clear off, burned, bloodied, festering with infection from mustard gas, and rot in the trenches. But this was no grown man, it was a young child. Innocent to the ways of the world and inexperienced in the simple joys it had to offer. "But it is up there." Her stomach twisted violently, her head still throbbed.

"She doesn't have a pulse," Demyan told her from the girl's other side.

Rose placed her finger on the girl's wrist, dread filling her stomach, further illing her. "No, it's there." She sighed.

"Hardly." Alice tisked. "She's clingin' on to dear life."

"I don't think there's anything I can do for her." she admitted, looking over the pale blue tint to her flesh, the only pink in her that of the torn flesh around her shins, Demyan was right, there was little holding her together except a few muscles and chipped bone.

"Oh, so what if you've never done anything like this before-" Demyan shrugged.

Rose's green eyes narrowed. "I've done plenty of these before." She snapped. But this felt different, wrong, even. She expected the sound of gunfire, of screams, the heat of fire and Belgium summer, the scent of blood and dirt. Instead, she was met with the quiet of the clinic, an almost calming rhythmic tapping on the roof, and the scent of blood and cleanliness.

It felt out of place. It felt _barbaric_.

She felt queasy staring at the girl's legs. Her mind telling her it was familiar but her hand shaking as if new.

"So you're saying, you just want to let her die?" Alice looked alarmed.

"No, no! How could you even suggest such a thing?!" Her voice rose.

"No, no, don't feel bad about it," Demyan assured. "I'm just surprised, that's all." He shrugged flippantly. "Normally, it takes a lot longer for a doctor to get like this."

"Like _what_?" She felt hot all the sudden.

"Clinical." He nodded to her as if an example. "Unmoved by human suffering. I like it. I expected you to be...weepier as a woman."

Rose didn't even know which part of his "compliment" made her angrier. Her teeth gritted. "I am not _unmoved_."

"And to a ten-year-old girl. So ruthless." He smiled, the first one she'd seen. She hated it. "I like it."

"I didn't say that."

"No, I get it." His head lulled to the side in thought. "You do want to save the world, one peasant at a time."

"Yes." She nodded.

"But just not this one." His head tilted to Melissa. "Because you don't want to do an amputation."

"I can do an amputation!" Her voice rose, her stomach stirring. She could. But on a child?...

"It's foul, hideous and barbaric and the stink…" Demyan shook his head, a distasteful sneer on his face. "It stays with you for days. I don't blame you." He offered a sympathetic look.

Oh god, Rose took one look at Melissa's leg, shredded, useless, tattered far beyond the clothes her family wore, all neatly lying there against the clean linen just barely spotted with blood.

The world spun around her.

Her stomach turned violently, and with little time to spare she turned towards the sink bracing herself as a wave of sickness was expelled. Her hands shook as she braced herself on the sink.

She couldn't do it. Not to a girl. Not now…

The war was over, the battle won. She never thought she'd have to do another one. Certainly not on a child in the middle of a civilized country.

 _"I promise, I'll try."_ She had given her word. She had promised them, knowing full well the state of her, she had promised them a chance.

"Well, doctor?" Alice asked nervously.

Rose was silent as a tear ran down her face. Oh god, she didn't want to do it, ending the girl's life before it had even begun.

But she had promised. And a Pryor promise was always upheld. Turning on the tap, she wiped her mouth and began re-washing her hands. "Prepare for amputation." Her voice was hoarse.

This time it was Alice who shifted nervously. "But, doctor, do you really want to torment her? She's going to die." They all knew it.

"You heard what I said, Alice." She focused on rinsing her hands. Step by step. Wash, prep the area, clear the wound, dissect the salvageable flesh, saw the bone, suture, and wrap. She'd be cold. She'd be clinical. She'd treat it as if a final examination. And when it was said and done, then she'd fall apart.

"Here we go." She breathed deeply as she took her seat. It would be a long and grueling procedure for them all. Damyen already starting to carefully pick out the debris of dirt and socks from the leg across her.

Pulling back the gauze, she placed the scalpel above the skin, hand trembling slightly as she hesitated. "You're sure she's not dead?" She suddenly turned to Alice.

"I'm sure." She nodded sympathetically.

"Right. Yes, right." She loosened her shoulders and took a deep breath. Step by step, she reminded herself. "God, help me." The scalpel easily slid into the skin...

It was a little over an hour later that the saw finally cut through the bone with a crunch. Rose braced herself on the table, exhausted by the tedious task with the slightly dull blade. Her arm and shoulder ached horribly but at least it was done. She shifted her weight one foot to another as she stretched her back before Damyen placed the stool back below her. "Right." She tiredly called when she handed him the severed leg, briefly closing her eyes to fight of nausea. "Ligatures." She called.

Demyan looked at her surprised, gesturing to the unfinished limb. "And the other leg?"

"We should leave it on." she rubbed her aching shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

"This is a clinic, not a hospital!" She suddenly snapped. "She'd lost too much blood, anymore and she'll be dead." She told them sternly. "You've cleared out the debris, all we can do is stitch her together and let her heal before transferring her to the hospital. They were luckily I liked to be prepared. I can't do anything more for her!" She deafened.

She'd rest, regain strength, and when strong enough the hospital could attempt a second amputation. Michael may have said Rose was one of God's favorites, but she didn't feel he was on her side today, she certainly wasn't going to gamble on a girl's life with or without it.

"Again, I ask, ligatures!" She tersely held out her waiting hand. Damyen quickly got the needle and catgut sutures.

As she began the tedious task of stitching the limb, she couldn't help but feel her eyes water.

"Finest women's university in America, all that hard work to reach the top of the class… And for what? I'm not a doctor." She scoffed. "I'm a _butcher_." Rose blinked away the tears.

"And a seamstress." Demyan interrupted her private thoughts as he wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"What am I doing here?" She asked herself. This place was not her home, this place had no ties to her or her to it.

 _Well, one…_

Rose gritted her teeth thinking of Michael.

"You did a good job." Alice tried to reassure. "She's alive."

"I know, but look at her. What's left of her... What have I done?"

"You saved her," Alice said firmly. She rather liked the doctor and hated to think she felt poorly about herself.

"You just might have to settle for saving the world three-quarters of a peasant at a time." Demyan's brows rose in humor, but neither women so much as chuckled, the exasperation in their eyes saying all they wished to.

"Have you performed many amputations, doctor?" He changed the subject.

"Not a lot. Not really. On my own, probably, four?" She guessed

"It looked like your first." He looked at her slyly from the corner of his eye.

"Well cutting off the leg of a thirty year old soldier and a ten-year-old little girl are a slight bit different." She tersely replied.

"You've come to the right place." Alice sighed. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to improve in a place like Small Heath, workhouses don't give a damn about the children around all that machinery." Alice had always been told growing up she could lose her honor in a whorehouse or her hand in the workhouse. She chose to keep her hands…

A raucous sounded outside the room, a thick Birmingham accent calling her name over and over again. "Demyan, would you please see to-"

The Russian was already out the door. Rose paused, rotating her shoulders to relieve the ache before once more continuing the delicate suture work.

* * *

"Rose!" John yelled into the seemingly empty clinic as he stormed in. Behind him, Arthur and Tommy supported an injured Jeremiah Jesus, their uncle Charlie limping in after. A simple meeting to collect some merchandise had gone terribly wrong when the Italian family surprised them, making off with their loot but not before a rather unfair fight. "Rosie!" He called again banging open her office door to find it empty.

"What's the point of having a fookin' doctor if 'ey ain't ever 'ere!" John yelled at his brother.

"Please, calm down gentlemen." A tall Russian man appeared from the operating room. "How can I help you?"

"Where's Rosie?"

"She's busy."

"Blinders take priority." John firmly reminded him, about to enter the hospital room. He was stopped by Demyan's large hands on his shoulder, a poor mistake on his part as he was quickly punched in the jaw. The lanky Russian slammed back into the door before falling to the floor.

"Enough, John!" Thomas called, reeling back his brother.

The commotion left Rose no choice but to intervene. Stepping into the clinic's front, she took one look at Demyan on the floor before her eyes traveled to the Peaky Blinders.

Having already met Thomas and Finn it left only two options, Arthur, who she knew to be the oldest and...

"You're John Shelby right?" She asked, taking in his clearly younger appearance. Like his brothers, he cut his hair close to the scalp all the way around except for the the top. The brown hair parted at the side and combed around his head. He too, had fair skin marked with both faint freckles and various scars, the most prominent of which was on the edge of his jaw. And just like his brothers and the other men, his clothes were soaked with rain.

"Aye." He looked her up and down.

Her eyes were narrowed as they looked to Thomas behind him. "Is this part of the _protection_ we spoke of?" Thomas didn't respond knowing it was a sarcastic question. His eyes flickered to John. They'd have words later. Last thing he needed was Polly riding their arses about their lack of manners with the good doctor.

Removing her bloodied gloves, she helped Demyan up. "This better be an emergency, I'm busy." She softened as she approached the group of five men huddled around a bed.

An older man was badly beaten, his cheek split and his brow bleeding, bruises already forming under his eye and jaw. As he was closer she came to him first only to be waved away to the next bed. A black man with long thick dreadlocks much closer to the brothers' age, sat hunched over, his arm crossed over his chest and his hand clutching his own cross.

"Jeremiah's been shot." Thomas informed her. Her eyes widened, panic dropping her features before she collected herself.

"Where?"

The white collared shirt under his black coat was stained red with blood across his left side. Immediately Rose ordered Damyen to collect the gauze iodine.

Her hands reached for his shirt, preparing to undress him when his hand gently grabbed hers. "No, no, miss, my arm." He nodded to the appendage. Rose straightened as Arthur helped him out of his black coat, his sleeve stained even more than his chest.

High on his arm, she saw the wound. Her concern morphed to confusion before settling on exasperation. She stepped back. "That is a graze. A bad graze-" She noted how deep it was. "-but a graze." She stressed, beginning to turn back to her previous task when Arthur gripped her arm.

Her eyes flashed to his face. Older than the rest of his siblings, his face was slimmer with less defined cheeks than his brothers and his hair a bit longer. Usually slicked back neatly, she took note of how it hung at the sides of his face, disheveled. He, too, had the scattered freckles, and blue eyes of his brothers, but his most distinguishing feature was the thick, neatly trimmed mustache above his mouth and the hard lines around his eyes.

It was tight but not painful, a restraint on his part considering the reputation he had. Still, Rose would not allow herself to be manhandled. Her green eyes looked to the offending appendage in disgust.

"Unhand me, at once!"

She suspected it wasn't her order, but the one over it, that made him release her.

"Let her go, Arthur." Thomas' firm drawl was quieter. Arthur did as instructed. A mad dog, following his master's orders.

"Are you dying?' She asked Jeremiah directly, clearly annoyed.

"E's shot. 'e needs to be stitched." Arthur told her.

"So does a legless girl I have on my table." She glared with a low tone, leaving the men. "Guess which one will be waiting till I'm done!" She hollered back at them.

"Elevate the arm above the head and heart, keep pressure on it." She instructed loudly. "And for fuck's sake," She suddenly turned at the door, staring at John who's fingers were prodding at the wound. "Stop poking at it!" She yanked the door open, letting it slam behind her.

The harshness of her words did not escape them. Tommy stared at the door long after she'd left, his head slightly tilted back in mild surprise and thought.

Their uncle Charlie gave a cough. "Bet you're glad 'ou didn't marry her, now, eh Johnny. Nagger, that one." He shook his head.

John sniffed, annoyed. "Naw, means she's wild in bed." He grinned deviously. "Makes me want 'er more."

"Not your type, John," Thomas commented remembering the words she'd spoken to him weeks ago.

"Think she's yours?" His brother challenged, a bit miffed by his words. Thomas was always the charming one, the best looking brother of the bunch that girls swooned over. John hadn't been bothered by it when he had Martha with him but now he saw it as a great annoyance.

Thomas' eyes moved from the door to his brother, that calm empty gaze making him sniff once more. Still drunk from his now usual binge that day, John broke first and looked away, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Thomas lit his cigarette, dropping his head to meet paper to match before grabbing Jeremiah's arms and pulling it up, doing as the good doctor ordered.

"They're saying she's yours. That true, Tommy?" Uncle Charlie looked him over, the men casting glances his way. Thomas didn't respond, smoking his cigarette, he removed the white rolled paper, pale grey smoke escaping in a long breath. His eyes met Charlie's, patiently waiting for a reply. None came as Thomas walked away, observing the now open clinic.

"Think he wants her?" Charlie asked Arthur.

"Thomas don' even look at women, except seeing a whore or two."

At that Charlie snorted. "Haven't you heard?" He jokingly asked. "She _is_ his whore."

* * *

Entering the theater, Rose made quick work to re-soap and glove her hands. "Doctor," Alice called.

"Sorry, Alice." Her cheeks reddened with anger and embarrassment at her language. "It just slipped out." She smiled apologetically. "My mother always did say I had my father's temper."

"That's alright, Miss." She bit her lip, her face twisted in uncertainty as Rose retook her seat. "I was trying to say-"

"Sutures," Rose ordered Demyan.

"She's gone, doctor." Alice blurted out.

Rose froze, staring at the saddened nurse before surging up to her feet. She checked her wrist, finding nothing, then her throat with the same result.

"Start chest comp-" Rose jumped into action, preparing to get her heart starting again only for Demyan to grab her shoulders and hold her back. She looked up at the older doctor angrily.

"Perhaps...it is for the best." He offered. His face was truly sympathetic.

Seeing the look of betrayal on the doctor's features, Alice was quick to reassure. "She's in God's arms now." The nurse gently brushed Melissa's red hair behind her ear, the vibrancy of which only enhancing the blue tint to her skin. "Her pain's stopped. What would she be coming back to?" Alice asked thoughtfully.

Rose looked stricken, her eyes falling on the girl's mutilated lower extremities. "Cle-clean her up." She hiccuped. "Please, Alice." She cleared her throat. "Demyan, if you could tell the father…"

"Yes, Doctor." They both nodded.

Rose could merely stand there, a heavy pressure in her chest as her stomach twisted. Alice collected a sponge and bowl of water, gently wiping away the dirt and blood from the child.

"It's best this way, Ma'am." She spoke to the doctor who continued to stare at her peaceful face. "Her family wouldn't have been able to help her. You helped her all you could. You have nothing to be ashamed about. Look at her, she's so peaceful. _Sleeping_ almost."

The term sent a knife through the doctor's stomach, twisting before being roughly pulled out. The last time she'd thought of that…

Rose's head lulled back, searching the heavens as she willed her tears to stop. Ripping away her apron and gloves, she gave a childish kick to the stool she'd sat on, the harsh clattering on the floor making Alice jump and alerting the men outside.

Gripping her hair, she smoothed the blonde stands back, trying to collect herself as her chest gave painful gasps and her eyes burned fiercely.

She would not cry, she willed herself.

She was angry. So angry she wanted to kick things and throw things and have a tantrum she hadn't had since her days as a chubby-cheeked child.

But she was a grown woman now. A doctor. Melissa was not the first, nor would she be the last. Rose's forehead lulled against the cold wood of the door as her knuckles turned white from their grip on the handle. She closed her eyes, swallowing back the ache in her jaw, urging her to scream and cry, and instead steeled herself with a deep breath. She whipped her eyes, straightened her shirt, and opened the door.

* * *

The sudden change in her mood was immediately noticeable when she returned. A palpable tension around her as she carefully and silently disinfected and stitched the men's cuts and graze. Her face looked colorless and her green eyes hollow, not even when Charlie praised the even stitching did she muster more than a flash of a smile. It was forced, pretty, but clearly forced. And as soon as she finished the last stitch she ordered Alice to dress the wound before she bid them a goodnight and secluded herself in her office.

As the boys began leaving the office with the intent to go seeking payback, Thomas found himself outside the doctor's door.

Knowing her penchant for politeness, he knocked twice in fair warning before opening the door. Her face was buried in her hands, elbows braced on the desk as she hunched over. His eyes scanned her office, the seemingly moonless sky giving no light to the window behind her desk, leaving the small soft lamp on her desk to light her features. The small room felt even smaller with the large bookcases covered the walls to the sides of her, each packed to the point of overflow, he noticed, as a small stack rested neatly on her desk. He gently let the door close behind him, not latching, just giving a bit of privacy, remembering how she reacted the last time she was alone and this close.

"Alright, Rosie?" He asked lowly.

She didn't respond. Outside, Thomas' name was called by Arthur, reminding him they had Italians to find. Giving her a once over, he brushed back his wet hair and put his cap on. He began to leave when he heard it...

She sniffled before letting her hands fall from her face. "I take it the preacher out there wasn't with you because you were taking my advice?" Her voice caught him halfway out her door.

Thomas stopped and sigh. This was a bad habit of hers. "No." He confirmed as he turned back to her. Her usually smiling lips were pinched and trembled, eyes red from the desire to cry. She looked from the desk to him, almost surprised to see him still in the doorway.

"Shame." Came the soft whisper. "I swear my treatments don't usually end in death." She forced a smile. "So don't take this as a sign to ignore my recommendation. You really should talk to someone." Her face was brows were slightly pinched in concentration, trying to keep it together despite the forced smile on her face.

"I'm not the one crying in my office, Rose." He said observing the scene.

Rose's thin strand of self-control seemed to snap at that comment, her hand coming to cover her mouth to muffle the sound that escaped.

His heart ached, his skin crawled. Crying women had always been his weakness, had always made him soft. He blamed his mother and Ada, really. It was always him they came crying to when Arthur Senior was a bastard or the boys were arseholes. Crying women and dying horses… the only thing that could stir Thomas Shelby's heart. His blue eyes softened, flickering to the air above her head.

"Rose." He said her name softly.

An unexpected laughed came from her, surprising them both. "I humiliated myself." She laughed bitterly through tears. "It's not like it was my first amputation." She thought aloud, eyed seemingly fixed on anything but him. "I've assisted on at least twenty...and I've done three by myself. No one died!" She was quick to add with a glance towards him. Thomas nodded, still silent. "But it felt...wrong." Her voice croaked. "I wasn't in a war zone, or a trench, or even a dilapidated hospital one bomb shake away from collapsing." Her voice broke remembering the sight of Michael in such a hospital. "I was in a clean, quiet clinic in the city. And I looked at her and everything just felt wrong. Like what I was seeing didn't match with what I was doing. The world felt wrong, uneven and-" _Godless_ , she almost said. "-and dizzy, and I just…" She gave a chortled laugh. "I vomited in the sink. And down the drain it went," Her hand made the motion of wiping something away. "-taking any authority or credibility or shred of respect he had for me with it."

Silence fell once more, Rose's face relaxing in thought as the tears slid down. "What am I doing here?" She breathlessly sighed.

Thomas' brows jumped in thought, his head bowing to gather a cigarette and match from his pocket. "Running from something's my bet." He mumbled as he lit his cigarette. His eyes raked her over, the blue searching for something. Why was she here? Pretty, educated, rich by the looks of the family photo on her desk...All the places she could go and fucking Small Heath is where she puts up shop. He had a lot of questions for the little lady but they'd have to be for another time. "You know what you need?" He pointed his finger at her, slightly wagging it in thought. She shook her head. "A drink." He placed two shillings on her desk. "Buy yourself some whiskey."

"I don't drink...often." She glanced at him briefly before her eyes returned to the desk.

"Seems a good time to start, aye?" He checked his pocket watch, noting the late time. He took a long look at her, staring in the silence before he pinched the rolled paper between his index and middle finger. Bending over the desk he flicked a bit of ash at the end into the brass ashtray before her. But as his hand left the tray he surprised her when his warm fingers moved under her tear dripped chin, careful not to let the cigarette get too close to her soft skin as he gently nudging it to raise. He studied the green eyes that finally met his. "Goodnight, Rosie."

She kept her chin lifted even when his warm fingers had moved. Her voice soft but stronger than it had been as she surprised him back. "Goodnight, Tommy."

* * *

 **Please Review. :)  
**

 **Awe, guys, she finally called him Tommy! The reviews for last chapter were amazing, thank you, _all of you_ , they really gave me the confidence to go ahead with this chapter as well as reminded me to watch out for a few things. Admittedly I did hold out an extra day waiting for more reaction but eh, I figured you guys deserved it for all the love and encouragement you've given Rose. Hopefully the lower number of reviews don't mean I'm losing readers. It hasn't even gotten to the juicy stuff yet. **

**PS: I'm gonna start building up chapter lengths (and more of Tommy's view), nothing major but a good 8-10K length once the episodes start if that's okay with you guys?  
**


	5. S1:E0 -:- It'll Drown You

**-:x:-**

Woken up like an animal  
I'm all ready for healing  
My mind's lost with nightmares streaming  
Woken up (kicking screaming)  
Take me out of this place I'm in  
Break me out of this shell-like case I'm in  
Underneath the skin there's a human  
Buried deep within there's a human  
And despite everything I'm still human  
But I think I'm dying here...

Daughter : Human

* * *

 **A Woman of No Importance**

 **Episode 0**

 **Part V: It'll Drown You  
**

* * *

Rose knocked nervously at the unfamiliar but well worn wooden door late that morning, the paint cracked and peeling to the point it flaked under her knuckles. She shifted nervously as a large piece fluttered to the floor. She never was rather comfortable with house calls. Things were usually all over, the room was never sterile, she only had limited tools, and anything could go wrong. As a doctor who prided herself on being well prepared the unknowable challenge of house calls made her anxious. The door abruptly opened, making her jump.

The older woman who answered was a tiny thing, nearly a head shorter than Rose and probably just above five feet tall, her light brown hair heavily streaked with gray, and a pair of small glasses on her wrinkling face. "Can I-"

"Someone called for a doctor?" A child had stopped by the clinic saying someone at this address needed stitches but couldn't come to the clinic. After saddling Demyan with a possible syphilis case, she'd grabbed her bag and eagerly come over. Now that the house loomed above her she was less than eager.

"Oh yes, yes." The woman waved her in. "It's my youngest." She said heading up the narrow stairs with Rose in tow. "He was playing by the cut and fell into some glass. I'm afraid I'm not strong enough to drag him," Certainly, Rose noted her very slight frame under her dirty dress. "But he was so scared of going to the hospital."

"It's alright," Rose assured her, following her up the stairs. "You don't have to explain."

"Mitchell, the doctor's come to help you." She opened up a small bedroom to reveal a boy with a tear stained face trying to sleep, his cut leg elevated with a few blankets and pillow. Rose was stricken by how familiar he looked. Had she treated him before?

"Hello." She smiled kindly, her heart warming at how he tried to wipe his tears and sit up at seeing her. "Oh no, don't get up!" She eased him back down, placing the bag beside him. "Mitchell, is it?" The boy just above Finn's age nodded. "Would you like some chocolate, Mitchell?" She pulled a small bit of candy from her bag, both looking at the mother for permission. She nodded.

"I've found there are few things in the world that can't be made better with chocolate." She handed him the piece to nibble on. "Now, close your eyes, Mitchell." She warned as she pulled something from her bag. She filled the syringe with a bit of morphine, looking to make sure they were closed and not peaking before injecting the pain reliever. Mitchell gave a startled cry and screamed for his mother. She felt horrible at the look on his face but knew that it was always the anticipation and fear that made it worse for children.

She shushed him, collecting supplies. "I know, I know, I'm so sorry." She really was. "But I promise you your leg won't hurt you for a while now." She promised as she laid out a suture kit. "See." She poked gently at the area around one of the deeper cuts, Mitchell flinching before realizing it was numb. "The stitches will feel a bit weird, like a poking sensation, but you can sleep now if you want." She looked at him hopefully, clearly seeing the boy was tired but restless with his limited mobility.

"Close your eyes and try to sleep, Mitchell." His mother caught on. He really shouldn't be watching himself be stitched up, in her opinion. Besides, he should take advantage of the morphine while he could.

Rose inspected the injury. Scattered around his shin and knee, various size and depths of cuts tore at the skin. It was grizzly looking, but most were nothing a bandage couldn't take care of. "Did you clean these out?" Rose looked at the woman impressed, not a sight of the supposed glass in them.

She smiled at the praise. "Aye, Miss..." She left it open to be answered.

"Pryor, call me Rose, please." Rose insisted, running a bit of iodine over the cuts just to make sure before she began stitching a few of the deeper wounds.

"Edna Walters." The woman supplied quickly before adding "Thank you, my son was a doctor, he shared a few tips with me before being shipped off. If my hands weren't so shaky I'd have stitched them myself, but they've been less than steady the past year and I just couldn't risk it." Edna gave a light laugh, watching the easy grace in which Rose expertly stitched the torn flesh together in smooth even strokes. She worked as the old woman rambled on explaining how her eldest son had talked about going to America once the war was over to chase some American nurse he'd met. "Before that he'd talk none stop about opening a hospital here in Small Heath. Always was a dreamer that one." She sighed. "But sadly, we sadly lost Michael in the war."

She'd been only half listening, politely trying to let her ramble nervously as she focused on her work, but the name had stopped her dead cold. Immediately she'd put it together. A cold chill ran up Rose's spine, all the breath leaving her at once as she stared ahead at the young boy. His face was so familiar because she's seen an older, tanner version day after day for years. His relieved smiles, his stressed furrowed brow, his tired but lively eyes… He looked exactly like Michael, even now as he slept heavily.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. She couldn't be more relieved that she was done with his stitches, for her hand began shaking. Rose cleared her throat.

"Oh…" Edna realized. "D-Did you know him?" She sounded mixed with dread and hope, knowing the American doctor had been in Belgium or so they said.

 _Knew him enough to kill him_ , came the dark thought as she turned to the woman. "No." Came the quick response. Rose was surprised with herself, her green eyes widening. "I-I-"

"It's okay." Edna misconstrued her tone. "I didn't think you did, dear." Edna smiled kindly.

It wasn't, it really wasn't.

It was a lie. A horrible lie. And she didn't even know why or how it happened but her mouth opened and the word spilled out. Sharp, cutting, ending the conversation once and for all.

Rose was still at a loss for words as her heart fell into her stomach, her hands a bit unsteady as she taped up Michael's-. No, _Mitchell's_ \- she reminded herself with a breathless flinch.

"Are you alright?"

No. "Yes." More lies.

"I-I'm done, but you really should come see mi-me!" She forcefully corrected herself. Michael, the name wanted to come out, own mind and body betrayed her and leaving her to fend for herself as they seemed to be at war with what they wanted.

"Oh dear." Edna mumbled to herself, alerting Rose of a problem. "I-I'm sorry, I don't think I can afford this. We've just paid the landlord." Her voice was quiet and trembling as she held out the bill.

Rose swallowed, waving away the paper. "Don't worry about it." A forced smile tried to subdue the older woman. She just wanted out. She needed out. She felt hot and confined, and though the house seemed clean it felt so stuffy and dirty to her.

"I won't take charity." She looked up at her proudly. The memory of Michael saying she reminded him of his mother with her pride forcing her to hum as she once more felt her heart beat low in her stomach.

"Then pay me when you get your next wages. One God-fearing woman to another." She nodded to the wooden cross on the wall.

"Are you sure?" She didn't want trouble, having heard the rumors of the Doctor's connections to less than civil men of the city.

"Of course. On my honor as a Catholic woman." She crossed her heart. Edna seemed pleased and nodded.

She left quickly afterward under yet another mumbled lie of being needed back at the clinic. Her feet took two steps at a time down the small stairway before she swiftly began making her way back. She made it only to the alleyway a few homes down before her body betrayed her again. On its own accord it steered her into the alleyway, letting her keep a bit of pride as she braced herself on its stone corner before spilling her breakfast on the gravel.

Straightening, she whipped the sweat from her brow, a low and unladylike "Fuck." escaping her mouth as one final act of rebellion before she took back control. Inside she was twisted and tumbled but on the outside she was calm and collected, ever the lady she was raised to be as she returned to the clinic.

* * *

Something was clearly wrong when she entered the clinic, her face pale and a bit of a sweat on her brow as she waved away Demyan's question of new supply orders. She had no patience for him today.

"What do you think is wrong with her?" Alice asked, concerned.

The Feldsher gave indignant harrumph at being waved away. "Perhaps it's just hysteria of women." He said a bit too surely.

 _That_ was the nonsense she'd expected.

Rose nearly rounded on the man but instead gritted her teeth and pushed through her office, closing the door behind her, locking it for good measure before taking a seat at her desk and allowing herself to have a moment of peace before seeing any more patients.

Her heart was still racing a mile a minute, dropped in her stomach to create a queasy and uneasy feeling. Her hands covered her face, deep breaths being taken in and expelled it out in a calming manner as she willed the horrible feeling away. _Oh god, the guilt hadn't been this bad in years._ The sight of the younger Walters child reminder her how much she'd begun to forget what Michael looked like. A new wave of guilt coming at the idea.

It was like being a small boat at sea, she supposed. Standing up to be pushed to one end by a large wave before gaining her feet just to be pushed by another. All the while, a subtle movement under you that just threw any balance or grace you had out the window. Oh god, she really needed to stop thinking about this metaphor. She gasped for breath as she became something similar to sea-sick, turning her chair to open the window for a fresh breeze.

As fresh as one could get in Small Heath, she noted the distinct smell of factory smoke. As she got ready to review some paperwork, her mind registered a change to her office.

She almost didn't notice the glimmering new bottle on her desk. A new bottle of Irish Whiskey sat on its corner, a glass hung upside down upon the bottle's top. There was no note, no sign, no bow even. It was simply there as if it had belonged there all along.

Her eyes slid to the middle of her desk, to the brass ashtray she'd knew she'd emptied last night.

As she didn't smoke, and she'd yet to have patients in here who did, there was only one person who would have left the cigarette ash neatly tapped into it.

Her eyes flicked back to the bottle, a previous conversation playing in her head.

For the first time in a long time, Rose's smile was not made for the comfort of others, nor from the habit of politeness. It was a raw, pure, and genuine. And for just a moment, she felt a bit better.

She contemplated the golden drink for a moment, grabbing the bottle and glass in hand before putting it in her desk drawer. It may be a good time for a drink, but it was always a good time for church. With a heavy sigh, Rose told Alice where she'd be in case of an emergency, before heading to the place she usually did for guidance.

* * *

Polly was already in the church when Rose entered that afternoon.

Her hands clasping her rosary near their usual spot, with her head bowed and eyes closed, saying her Hail Mary's. A presence joined her side, and Polly need not even look to know who it would be.

Though before she finished she knew something was wrong. An energy buzzed around Rose, altering her that not all was good for the good doctor long before she opened her eyes.

Silence fell in the church as the two women prayed together, taking comfort in each other's presence in the otherwise empty church. Polly finished before her, sitting up in the pew she waited for the girl to complete her own prayers before admonishing, "You look ill."

As pretty as she was, Rose's beauty went beyond the peachy surface. There was an easiness to her smile, a light in her eyes, and a pink tint to her cheeks, that drew people to her. Catching the attention of both men and women as well as children with very mixed results. Her soft beauty really glowed with warmth around her.

Not today. Though even now she could draw the eyes, today she looked troubled. Her skin was paler and her usually smiling mouth interchanging between a stoic line or a thoughtful frown. Even her eyes seemed to have lost their warmth, a deep set worry held in them.

Something was amiss with the Doctor.

"What's gotten you in a fret?" Polly slightly turned to face her, as she willed her to answer.

"I suppose I'm having rather unladylike thoughts." Rose sighed anxiously.

Polly's hand came to rest against her jaw, intrigued by the juicy gossip from such a usually reserved woman. "Oh, do tell." Polly's eyes had a bit of delight in them, suspecting who it might be, quietly hopeful it'd be-

"The Feldsher at my clinic, the Russian…"

Not him.

Polly's face fell a bit in surprise. The older woman shifted, having seen the man but had little interaction besides pleasantries as they'd pass. "Well… he's not a horrible looking, but you could do much bett-

"What?" Rose's face scrunched in confusion, her ears pinkening at the realization. "Oh heavens, no!" She cried. The sound echoing in the empty cathedral, forcing her embarrassment further as she looked around.

Polly was relieved at that.

"Not-not that, Polly." Rose seemed disgusted at the idea. "It's not desire but rage." She huffed. "The man's infuriating, egotistical, belittling, with this ease of smugness like he knows what he did but hid it so well under innocence I don't know if he means to be that way or not. He's, he's-"

"A bastard." Polly supplied. Rose's eyes widened in surprise as Polly casually crossed herself in apology, forgetting where they were momentarily.

"Yes." Rose quietly agreed. "Though I'd never say it."

"You're kind and sweet, I'm not." Polly was unapologetic in her choice of words, just in where she'd chosen to say them. "He is what he is."

"I want to hit him. In the face. Repeatedly." She teeth clenched. "Preferably with something hard until I can knock that annoying smirking mustache off his face." She sighed, trying to let the anger go.

Polly's face twisted in a small smile. But even with the confession, Rose was holding something back.

"But that's not what's really troubling you." Polly dug deeper. She hit the nail on the head, she realized, when Rose's jaw gave a small clench, her eyes looking forwards and willing Polly's gaze away. "Go on," Polly shifted a bit closer, lowering her voice. "God and Aunt Polly are listening." She encouraged.

Rose swallowed, her hands fiddling with themselves on her lap as she tried to make the words come. So quiet it was a good thing Polly had come closer, she sighed. "I-I met his mother today."

Polly didn't even have to have her elaborate to know who'd mother she spoke of. The guilty look on her face and pained expression in her eyes speaking volumes. The girl only had one sin that could make her look like that…

"And… I think I should tell her-"

" _Nothing._ " Polly immediately snipped that thought in the bud. "You tell that woman nothing." She stressed.

And though she didn't have the cold blue shade of the Shelby brothers she could see the relation to Tommy in her eyes. Feeling the intense gaze burn into her as she willed herself to stare at the large cross ahead.

Rose shifted uncomfortably as Polly waited in an unusually tense silence for the two. Her gaze dropped to the floor, sliding around to the left till it slowly raised to meet Polly's. Her expression was hard. "You don't owe her son anymore, you don't owe her anything. You owe them _nothing_ , Rose." Polly shook her head, knowing the hard truth might not be what the guilt-ridden girl wanted to here. Rose's eyes blinked quickly, green eyes becoming glassy. "What happened in Belgium is between you, me, Michael, and God." She quietly snapped. "And God save you, it's best it stays that way." Polly's words gave no room for argument.

Rose swallowed thickly, her chest heavy as she looked back at the cross. Polly softened, trying a different approach. "A mother's love is a beautiful, but dark and _dangerous_ thing. When you have little ones of your own you'll understand. You'll love nothing more. You'll want nothing more. And you'll seek to do whatever it takes to keep them safe."

Rose turned at the crack in her voice, for the first time noticing something vulnerable in the older woman's eyes that ensnared her attention. "But when they're taken from you… you'll think of doing things you never thought yourself capable of." Polly spoke from experience. "God will forgive you, Rosie." Of this Polly was sure, and it showed in her voice. "A mother…" She shook her head. "-not so much."

"But you don't know that." Rose tried to defend. She wanted this burden to be over, this constant ache in her heavy heart was taking its toll. Perhaps she was meant to tell Mrs. Walters what happened. Perhaps she could finally be at peace with it.

"Oh, but I do." Polly affirmed. "I had children once." She said softer. "A little girl, Anna, and a little boy... _Michael_." She gave a small smile. "Coincidentally."

"I-I didn't know that." Rose's regret showed. Polly had never spoken of them the months they'd talk, and Rose realized a bit too late she'd never bothered asking. What with the way she doted on Finn and she'd assumed he'd been the child she never had.

Polly tried to give a reassuring smile but it fell flat. "My heart breaks even when I think about them, I don't talk about them, I don't think Finn even knows." Polly's jaw ticked, swallowing back a sob as her eyes glassed. He'd been but a babe when they'd gone…

"Anna was three, Michael was five. Well, two weeks away from being six." She corrected, still able to hear the eagerness in which he'd corrected his older cousins. "It was Sunday morning and I was at church." Polly's attention fell past Rose's head, the unfocused look in her eyes, clear she'd been lost to the memory.

" _You're not forgiven_." She said in a clipped, low voice. "That's what this pinch-faced bitch said to me, _'You're not forgiven'_." Polly's hardened face fell in sorrow.

Her eyes shifted back to the Doctor's sympathetic but confused face.

Polly sniffed back tears. "You see, some sheets I had washed and hung on the line had the name of a hotel on them. They'd been stolen in a robbery, and they said some porter at the hotel had been coshed."

Rose's mouth opened a bit in surprise. She was nowhere near naive enough to think all the stories of the Shelby family were completely untrue. They were criminals. She'd known this, she's been told this, and she'd seen the impact of which with her own eyes when she stitched them up. But the first-hand admission was a confirmation she wasn't expecting.

"A woman from 'round here told the police about the linens. Jealous, you see, of the new sheets. And when the police came, they found a spirit still making a few drops of gin. And for that…" Polly's lip trembled, her shoulders shaking as she suppressed a sob. "They took _my children_ from me." It came out as a pained cry. "And they never told me where they took them." She sniffled, whipping her face quickly of the tear that escaped. Rose's hand grabbed for hers, holding it gently as it seemed to shake before gripping back tightly. It gave the older woman strength to carry on. Clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability she showed but knowing Rose would be the last person to use it against her.

Polly took a moment to collect herself, once more wiping away a tear as Rose gave her silent support. Tears of her own welling up in her eyes.

"I like to think they were put with a happy loving family." Polly sniffed. "Out in the pretty countryside somewhere. But I'll never know." Polly stared intently at Rose. "I've missed so much, I'll continue to miss so much of their lives."

"The only good thing my brother Arthur ever did was those five kids of 'is. Gave me something to focus on when I was damn near out of my mind. And then if it hadn't been for Thomas I'd be hung and long buried." She admitted, her sorrow passed and a steelier anger following.

"When I found the woman responsible, I was mad with grief. A temper I'd never had before giving me the strength to beat her to the ground. She was near twice my size but a rage had taken over me. I don't remember how it happened exactly." Polly shook her head. "I remember seeing her, seeing my kids dragged away, and then the next thing I knew I had wrapped my hands around her neck." Polly shameless admitted.

Rose managed to keep her composure, face betraying nothing even as her heartbeat ran wild. Polly sniffed away the last of her tears. "Luckily Tommy'd followed me and pulled me off the bitch." Polly didn't apologize for the language this time, and Rose wasn't going to correct her.

"Dragged me home that day, kicking and screaming, mad in the head. God, I must have slapped him silly." At that she did show a bit of remorse, remembering the young twenty-year-old unmoved by her flying hands, taking hit after hit with only a slight grimace. She never did apologize. Tommy had never expected her too. "He kept me from hanging for murder that day."

A silence followed as Polly's attention turned to the cross, thinking about those days, God and family barely getting her through it.

"What happened after?" Rose's voice was barely above a whisper. Polly's eyes snapped back to her, her face giving away nothing as her eyes searched hers. She seemed to decide something as she patted Rose's hands, finally releasing them.

"She moved away soon after. Because she knew from the look in my eyes, long before Tommy told her, if I ever saw her again, I'd wring her neck till her pinched-faced head popped off." Polly admitted lowly.

"I tell you this, Rose, because you need to know." She whispered to her. "It's been ten years, but I can still feel it, Rosie. My anger hasn't gone yet. Don't risk your life testing hers." Polly suspected it wouldn't take much to make the little doll's head pop off. Polly brushed a strand of blonde hair back behind the doctor's ear. A haunted look crossed her face at the familiar action before she smiled in a motherly way, caressing the young woman's soft cheek. "What is confessed between us in church is never to leave the church. Understood?"

There was a double meaning to Polly's words. Of this, Rose knew without a doubt. But she didn't feel fear at the warning. She felt comforted by it in fact. The Doctor hesitated only briefly before nodding.

"Good." Polly smiled, letting go of the girl's cheek. "I mean it, Rose. Stop letting this burden weigh you down. It'll drown you." She advised.

Rose looked at her wristwatch slyly, not meaning to be rude but not expecting to stay past a pleasant daily chat and prayer. "I really must be going." She got up. "I promised Harry I'd help him in the bar today, poor man's pinched his hand again. I still have paperwork to do in the clinic, too." She tisked.

At the mention of the clinic, Polly was reminded of their earlier conversation.

Rose managed only a few steps before Polly turned to call to her. "What's the story with Thomas and you?"

"Pardon?" Rose straightened her dress skirt.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Rose wouldn't even dignify that with an answer. "Why does everyone think that?" Her brows furrowed. He'd been nothing but civil and polite, friendly at most, other than downright rude at the start. She saw no reason to these rumors.

Polly smiled knowingly. "Because Thomas hasn't look at any woman twice since France." Of this, Rose had been told. "But _you.._ " Polly's head tilted a bit in thought. "He can't keep his eyes away from you." Her lips tried to contain their smile but couldn't help but pull at the corners.

Rose stared at her in disbelief, unknowingly shaking her head a bit at the notion. Polly's chest rumbled a small chuckle. "The next time you see him: walk away, pay him no mind, then look back at him. Bet you a shilling you'll find his eyes on you."

A flash of those clear blues appeared when she blinked, same as they had when she'd noticed the whiskey. She could see them staring into her green ones as he lifted her chin, the color so haunting to her already.

"I don't gamble." Was all she could muster before walking out. As the door closed behind her she could still hear Polly's amused chuckling, a flush crossing her face at the idea.

Inside the church, Polly's brown eyes turned alter-bound once more. She had trusted Rose with something she told few people of, a story she'd left only a few key parts out of. It wasn't mistrust that had made Polly tweak her story, but worry. She wasn't quite sure the girl was strong enough to know the truth. Pinch-faced Sally McGuinness hadn't moved away. She's passed away. Suddenly and unexpectedly, with no witnesses to her death and no marked grave to her bones. As would any other soul that dared to cross the Shelby family...

* * *

Rose didn't have to wait long to test Polly's absurd theory. Sure enough around dusk, Thomas and his younger brother John walked into the bar, nodding at the respectful greetings of 'Mr. Shelby" they were given. But as John leaned over a table, chatting away to some bloke, Thomas approached the bar. His razor blade sown cap rested on the gold counter beside the glasses she was polishing, the two titanium blades gleaming in the bar light in the first close look she'd gotten at them.

"Whiskey," Thomas mumbled with his cigarette, to an already turning Rose.

 **"Irish."** His eyes flew to hers when she placed the bottle beside a newly cleaned and polished glass, having not expected her voice to echo with his. She gave a bemused smirk, proud of herself for being right because she'd be horribly embarrassed if she was wrong.

"Don't worry, it's not the bottle you left on my desk." She promised as she poured from the newly opened whiskey. Thomas gave no indication to correct or deny her theory. She knew it was him, with little doubt. She just wasn't sure if he wanted her to know it was him.

"I prefer Scottish myself, just so you know." She placed the glass before him.

Thomas pulled the paper from his lips. "Ah, but you don't drink." He reminded her with a raise of his brow.

"Often." She corrected. "I don't drink _often_." She picked up a new glass and continued to polish, these little details hard on Harry's pinched hand. "But when I do, I like red wine and Scottish whisky."

"Not champagne?" He'd expect that from an upper-class girl like her far before scotch.

Rose finished her last glass and stacked it with the other. "Well, who doesn't like champagne?" She shrugged.

He wasn't fond of it himself, actually, but didn't correct her. Instead, he chose simply continued to smoke and watch her. "My apologies." He snubbed out his cigarette stub in one of the ashtrays.

"It was a sweet gesture." She smiled graciously, her face looking a bit more lively like it usually did then when he'd come in. "Thank you." Her cheeks appeared to tint a bit pink.

Thomas looked up at her from dark lashes, still not giving away any involvement in this whiskey mystery of hers. Their conversation seemingly finished, Rose took the two shillings he placed on the bar to the register on the other side.

She paused as she closed the drawer, hesitating before turning back around. All the way at the other end of the bar, she seemingly straightened some bottles, an odd nervousness more akin to fluttering that sea sickness in her stomach as she dared herself to look over.

If she was a gambling woman she'd be out a shilling.

Tommy's eyes were indeed on her, unabashedly looking at her before his eyes casually fell to his brother as her cheeks turned a bit pink.

It didn't mean anything, she rationalized. Like she had once told him, she knew he was the kind of man who liked to shake the beehive just to see what would happen. He liked to watch people, study them and they're reactions. It did not make her special, she reasoned… But then why the whiskey?

 _Who said he even left the whiskey?_ Doubt picked at her mind. The whiskey itself and a lone cigarette ash being her only clues.

Making her way back over, she did a bit of busy work, buffing the counters. "Did _you_ leave the whiskey?" She asked softly.

"Why?" He sipped his own glass of the stuff, eyes falling to the glass before glancing up at her. "Does it make it any more special?" He pried, seeing the pink tint to her cheeks. The soft coloring seemed to compliment her green eyes.

 _Yes._ The answer was in her mind before she'd even had the chance to consider it.

"Does it make it any less wrong?" He swished the amber liquid gently in her glass, his eyes still not leaving hers.

Rose leaned closer, bracing her weight on the bar. " _Did you_ leave the whiskey?" Her voice was softer. She didn't know why she was pushing it, but here she was hands braced, eyes searching, wanting an answer without knowing why. To know who was in her office, she assured herself.

He leaned closer, giving her little space between the two as he asked just as quietly, "Do you _want_ me to have left the whiskey?"

For eyes such a cold blue they always somehow managed to warm her in a fuzzy way. Rose's blush continued, her pink lips parting as she stumbled for the next step to this game. Thomas' blue eyes finally left her green, just for a moment, a heartbeat, to flicker to her lips, less than a foot separating them. A short distance that could be easily closed.

Neither question would be answered.

The frustrating, but calm, atmosphere changed the moment the doors burst open. A bald man, somewhere between Rose and Tommy's age yelled and hollered nonsense as he gripped a man by his jacket and started trying to choke him. John Shelby and another flat cap wearer immediately tried to break them up. "Danny!" Thomas yelled, jumping into the melee as he and his brother pulled Danny off. "It's not real, Danny. It's not real!" Thomas yelled trying to restrain him with his brother's help.

A medical professional, she saw the man Danny had been trying to choke gasping for breath, still a bit purple in the face, and rushed to his side. It was like waving a flag in front of a bull, her sudden arrival reminding Danny of how the other diggers would appear out of the dark caves.

"Rose, don't!" Thomas warned. The doctor stood up, ready to back away and heed Thomas' warning, but Danny was quicker. He gave a ferocious cry as he broke free of Tommy's grasp, his entire body colliding into Rose and throwing her back against the wall. A pained gasp escaped as all the air was forced from her at the blunt impact. The doctor fell forward to her knees, her breathing ragged. Her back was on fire, and she felt she might vomit once more.

No wonder her dress felt a bit loose this morning.

She heard rather than saw Thomas' fist collide with Danny's face, the soft thud followed by a much heavier one as he and John managed to wrestle him to the floor. "Enough! E-fuckin'-nough Danny! It's not real! Stand down!" It was the first time Rose had heard him raise his voice, the rich rough sound a bit clearer as his accent wasn't as noticeable. It was a powerful thing, Thomas Shelby yelling. And the familiar orders to stand down seemed to register in the primal war shredded part of Danny's brain. He stopped struggling, breathing heavily as Thomas whispered words she couldn't hear in his ear. He patted his shoulder, leaving him on the floor to calm down with the rest of the bar.

Harry immediately moved to help the young woman up, but someone else got to her first. He watched as Thomas straightened and steadied her.

The gangster lifted her chin as he had in her office weeks ago. "Let me look at you." Thomas held her face gently between his hands, the doctor breathing heavily to find normalcy. "Rose? Rose." He ordered her attention, and when her green eyes met his she saw a troublesome worry in them, the only expression on his otherwise tightly controlled face. His thumb stroked her cheek mindlessly. "Alright Doctor?' he asked softly, trying not to startle her any worse.

Her green eyes blinked rapidly, the dark lashes fluttering as she turned her eyes to his.

She hesitated only a moment before nodding, coughing when she tried to speak. "Ye-k-es".

His gaze dropped, looking her over once more before removing one hand, the other falling down to her shoulder, a firm but not tight grip as it rested there. He turned to the crowd, hearing Danny's saner mumbles.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Danny repeated over and over, seeing the damage done to both the chair and lady.

Thomas turned to his brother, unable to justify his own fury at the man he knew was unwell. He gave a demanding point at the exit. "Get him out! Make sure he gets home, John!" The younger Shelby nodded, lightly slapping Danny's face to make sure he was still with 'im before leading him out the bar.

Rose looked uneasy as she watched him go.

Thomas immediately caught note of the troubled expression. "He didn't mean it." He assured her she was safe, his hand one more nudging her chin, to move her eyes towards him. "It was nothing personal." He promised. He didn't want her too frightened of the usually docile man. "Danny's just-"

"I'm well aware." She nodded. "Just so you know," her eyes flickered to the door. "- _that_ is what happens when you don't drain the infection." She went back to their previous metaphor. "First it'll take over and infect your sleep, then it'll deepen, taking over your mind when you're awake. And then it'll take your life." She told him softly, green eyes searching his as if he'd been the once nearly thrown across the room. Thomas realized his hand was still on her shoulder when her hand gently gripped his wrist, squeezing before lowering it off her.

He took a step back, not wanting her to feel cornered as she slid past, she waved off Harry's worried hands, holding her aching back as she walked up the stairs to the clinic, His eyes trailing after her. Tougher than she looked, he thought.

"Mr. Shelby." Thomas's set his sight to the side, a hesitant Harry wiping his hands on his apron. "You need to do something about him." Harry, like most shop owners, paid the Peaky Blinders good money to keep trouble like this away. Thomas's eyes hardened, the glimmer of emotion Rose had peeked at gone at the order. Seeing this, Harry tried a different tactic, hoping it would work. "Next time he could hurt Miss Rose a lot worse." Tommy looked at him with disinterest, willing him away. But when Harry had gone and the pub resumed, his eyes fell to the shiny metal bar, the entirety of what remained of his whiskey was thrown back in a single gulp before he collected his cap and left.

* * *

As soon as she closed the clinic door behind her, Alice was there, clipboard in hand, with her mouth poised to request something. But seeing the flinch on the doctor's face, it paused before asking if she was alright.

"I'm fine. Better than some." She thought of Danny for a moment, a cautionary tale she hoped Thomas would take to heart. "Did you need something?"

"Oh yes, miss, these supply forms need to be signed as well as the death certificate for poor Mr. Willoughby." Alice's face saddened a bit at the thought of the old man who'd taken a nasty knock to the head the other night. There was nothing they could do but make him comfortable until he stopped breathing in his unconscious state.

"He was old." Rose reminded. "And fat, and happy, and beloved. He had a good life. He'll be in Heaven now." Rose tied to assure her the same way she'd been assured at the loss of young Melissa weeks prior.

As she took the clipboard, she noticed the crying of a child a few beds down. "What's wrong with the boy?" Rose use the pen to point to the little boy quietly sobbing on the bed behind the nurse, concern lighting her green eyes. Alice was quick to wave him off, not particularly one for children herself.

"Oh nothing, he's waiting for his mum to finish getting a tooth pulled." Alice handed her yet another document to sign.

"Well let's give him a bit of chocolate, please, it always does make things better." Rose requested as he head dipped to read over the form. "It can be quite frightening in a new place without a parent."

"Alright, Miss Rosie, but I don't think that'll necessarily stop the boy." Rose gave a questioning hum, urging her to expand. "I think it's the picture that's scaring them."

Rose's head lifted smoothly at once. "What picture?"

" _That_ picture." Alice pointed behind her. Sure enough, a large three by two-foot portrait hung on the wall beside the inner stairwell behind her. Made in the chiaroscuro style of art, the painting's focal point, an older man with grey hair and thick bushy white beard, was anything but inviting. The older gentleman was shrouded in shadows, his harsh eyebrows raised one above the other, wide dark eyes looking down at them in a type of distasteful dissatisfaction. Just the faintest of lines separated the curled mustache from the block like beard, revealing a grim frown between them.

Rose gave a surprised gasp and stepped back, her eyes meeting the portraits unexpectedly. It was disturbingly well done. Behind her, she could feel Alice lean closer. "The eyes follow you, don't they?" Alice whispered over her shoulder as if the portrait could hear. Rose's head lulled to one side, studying it carefully as Alice mirrored her motions.

"Ah, Doctor!" Demyan called pleasantly, Alice jumping at the sudden sound as Rose pulled her attention away.

Normally a patron for politeness, Rose's bad day had left her with little. The Doctor looked at him to the painting and back, already having figured out it was not Alice who'd placed it there. "What is _that_?" Her finger raised accusingly at the blemish to her walls.

Demyan's eyebrows rose as he grinned. "Why it's the father of medicine himself!"

"Hippocrates?" Both women asked with furrowed brows and dubious tones.

"No." The Russian looked affronted. "The great and knowledgeable, _infallible_ , master of medicine, Doctor Leopold Leopoldovich." The titled rolled off his tongue with too much ease, the Feldsher pulling the lapels of his white coat proudly.

A silence stretched between them, Demyan smiling proudly, smugly almost, as Alice looked to Rose for a reaction. The doctor's eyes were heavily hooded in contempt, closing to keep from rolling before she took a deep breath.

Alice waited with bated breath, eagerly waiting to see what Rose would do, hoping for a reaction that would be true to the tongue lashing she promised him but was too meek and flustered to deliver herself.

Rose sighed suddenly, long and hard and clearly beaten down by the taxing day, breaking the tense moment as she returned to her office with an exasperated shake of her head.

"And you said she'd hate it." She heard Demyan tisked at Alice. Unaware of how the demure nurse's eyes stared at her back longingly in disappointment. "I painted it myself, you know." He grinned.

A sigh was heard. "Of course you did." Alice rolled her own eyes before going back to work, leaving the Feldsher to stand and stare at the portrait with a praising smile.

The doctor's office door slammed closed.

Scottish, Irish, Thomas gifted, or stranger sent, she no longer cared. She just _really_ needed that drink.

* * *

 **Please Review. :)**

 **I'm publishing this at the crack of dawn to hide my shame in the dark. It's a very 'jumpy' chapter and not as smooth as I'd like it but you guys have honestly been so good to me, reviewing, helping, alerting, favoring, or just reading. I'm so grateful for everyone of you. Especially my regulars INSANITY - BRILLIANCE, burgessinthestreets, StephLauren, Ray of the Dawn, and Cait, Sarcastic Enigma and those of you who pop in every once in a while or are just joining! Any reviews would be great, even if they are listing the ways I could do better.**

 **End of very long, early morning (5am) note. :) Thanks again for the reviews, hope you enjoyed!**


	6. S1:E0 -:- A Clear Conscience

**-:x:-**

I'm getting on a mountain  
away from the people on the ground and  
some cop sticking up my wagon  
Chop chop we're gonna build a cabin  
up top on a pretty little mountain  
Fuck off all you people on the ground, ya!

Mother Mother : Bit By Bit

* * *

 **A Woman of No Importance**

 **Episode 0**

 **Part** **VI: A Clear Conscience  
**

* * *

This part of her job was never easy.

Rose dried her hands, a bit sensitive from how hard she'd scrubbed them, and tried to find the words to mark the beginning of the end of a still relatively young man's life.

Clearing her throat, she tried her best to appear firm but caring like she had been taught.

"I'm sure that, as a soldier, you've faced more than your fair share of danger. But the fact is you face a kind of danger now which is, well, not exactly something you can fight to win." She tried not to skirt around the issue. "I...I'm afraid you have contracted syphilis, Sir."

Duncan, the man that sat before her rubbed at his sore throat, blinking back at her without a word.

"Sir?" Her voice was soft. Probably in denial, the poor man.

Duncan stared at her. "All I want is a gargle."

Rose's head fell forward a bit, her eyes falling to the floor beside him before her face scrunched in confusion. "Did you hear me?" She asked him, eyes snapping to his. "I said you have syphilis." She enunciated.

"What's that then?" He shrugged, scratching his large pot belly.

Rose straightened immediately, her mouth falling open at the ignorance in this day in age. "It is an extremely serious and highly infectious disease of which without the immediate and proper treatment will result in-"

"Am I getting the gargle or not?" He looked at her like she was dim. "My throat's killing me."

" _No! It's not!_ " Rose's voice rose a few octaves. " _Syphilis_ is what is killing you!"

He had the nerve to lift his lip in a sort of disagreeing grimace as he shrugged, no care whatsoever.

"What I am trying to make you understand, is it is extremely serious and highly infectious. Hygiene is going to very important now. Vital!" She stressed. "Black ointment is very good, but you must rub it in thoroughly, but even then I'm afraid it only slows-"

"Are you out of gargle?" He questioned her, untrustworthy of the American woman.

" _Forget_ your sore throat!" She berated him. "If you don't do as I tell you, your symptoms could become a lot worse."

"I'll come back and see the proper doctor." He got up to leave, opening the door and walking through it.

" _I AM_ the Doctor!" She yelled, following after him. Her hand nearly touched the doorknob before thinking better of it, pushing the door open more by the wood above it. "You are going to die! A slow and painful death. I mean _horrific_!" Panic was clear on her face as she tried to make him see reason. "Ulcers, pus, your nervous system shot to pieces." She didn't care that she looked a fool ranting and raving after the man."You will _long_ for the sweet release of death. Believe me, you will look back _fondly_ on the sore throat!" She stopped beside him.

"Stop, wait, I need to give you the ointment!" She ordered him as he paid and left.

"Have you got a wife? _A family_? Because they need to come and see me at once if so. And- Oh lord! You're not sleeping with prostitutes are you?!" She gasped at the thought of an outbreak.

But he'd already gone. Rose left staring as the clinic door closed with a small squeak.

"Doctor, they don't understand the nuances of syphilis like we do as men of sci-" Demyan seemed to catch himself at his mistake, staring down at her still stricken face he could only shrug. "I doubt that he knows what 'highly contagious' means." He waved the peasant off.

Rose would not.

She pushed past the Russian, opening the door to brace herself on the iron rails of the outside stairs. Her eyes searched the ground before finding him. "You're _nose_ will fall off!" She shouted. He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture, disappearing around the corner.

"You can't save them all." Alice gently patted her back. "He's one of hundreds. And that's just syphilis." She tried to ease her conscience.

"He's going to die," Rose said quietly.

"We all do sometime." Alice sighed, leaving the doctor to stare disheartedly. "At least he paid before he left."

Alice bit her lip seeing the doctor flinch. "Oops." She whispered. The sudden awkwardness at the unintentional dig made her fiddle her hands. "I didn't mean that as a-"

"I know, Alice." Rose sighed, her head hanging in her hands as her elbows braced her weight against the railing.

"I'll.. I'll just go." Alice made herself scarce.

Rose let her hands cover her mouth, her eyes shutting tightly as she firmly sealed her lips to let out a muffled scream.

 _How had she let things get so out of hand so quickly...?_

"Miss Rosie?"

She heard a small voice below. Opening her fingers, she spied the sight of young Finn between them. His little face concern as he stared up at her, a bit early for his reading lesson. "Are you alright, Miss Rosie?" He was troubled by her state.

Rose blinked, once, then twice. With a deep inhale she straightened, letting the hands fall from her face as she smiled, bright and warm, like a ray of sunshine on him. "Yes, Finn." She'd leave those troubles to later, choosing now to give him her full attention

Finn thrived under it, returning a giddy grin of his own when she waved for him to come up.

* * *

"Finn tells me you've been out of sorts, lately." Polly turned to Rose. Weeks after their last discussion, Polly doubted it could still be guilt over lying to Michael's mother, but then again the girl seemed incapable of letting it go.

Rose's eyes closed, taking a moment to realize that of course the young boy would speak to his Aunt. Whether from his own worry or on the matriarchs orders was a toss-up. "I've just been having some issues with the books lately." She tried to force a smile. "Still getting used to the currency I guess." She tried to force a laugh, the light scoffs unfitting of her person.

Polly didn't buy it.

" _Rose..._ " Polly said her name in that long drawn out way that made the younger woman cringe. In a mere moment, she could vividly remember all the times her parents, tutors, and nannies scolded her in that same tone. She was revered back to that stuttering, knee shaking little girl.

"I-" She sighed. "I let a mother, or well, I said a mother-" She stumbled over her words. Hanging her head in her hands she groaned before raising it to peer at the woman staring at her expectantly. And just as she felt, Rose looked very much the scolded child caught with her hand in the cookie jar before supper. "A mother called to clean and stitch some bad cuts for her son. Apparently, he'd fallen in glass playing by the cut. It was horrible, Polly! I couldn't turn them away. But then… then-"

"They didn't have the money." Polly knew what would come next. She didn't have to guess far with the people in this place.

" _Yet_." Rose corrected. Polly gave a sharp and cynical laugh. "She'd just spent her money on rent and- and I couldn't just leave or-or make her give me something! So I told her she could pay what's due when her wages came in."

"Oh, you naive girl." Polly shook her head.

Her pride a bit ruffled, she set her jaw. "It was Michael's mother."

Polly's laughter stopped, her sour grin lowering to a pitying frown as she looked at her. "How could I turn her away, Polly?" Her green eyes grew glassy.

Polly looked away, knowing there was nothing she could say to that. The girl seemed determined to let this guilt rule her.

"That's not it." Polly turned her head almost hesitant to hear what else there could be. "They...they sort of told some other people."

"Oh good lord." Polly's eyes closed. They had smelled the weakness on her and descended like a pack of wolves. Polly shook her head at the girl's naivety.

"And one became two, and two became five, and-" Rose heaved a sigh, realizing how it could seem in hindsight but never noticed how out of control it was spinning when she was still in the flurry of it.

"How many bills are you due, Rose?" Polly's tone was a cross between disbelief and beratement.

The doctor bit her lip, eyes looking skyward as she flinched. "Twelve. But four are now dead so…" Her face softened oddly at the thought as if it somehow made it better.

"Oh god help you!" Polly crossed herself. "This is Small Heath, love, you get payment upfront! Even the whores know that!" Polly admonished her. Rose bristled and gave a heavy sigh through her nose, as Polly gawked at the side of her face. "I worry about you." The older confessed softly. "Too sweet for the likes of this place. Too trusting..." Rose eyed her from the corner of her eye. "Well, what are you gonna do?" Polly pushed. That many bills were bound to be eating at the doctor's books.

"Well, I mean I guess remind them nicely th-"

"I swear I would hit you if I didn't think you'd break like a bloody porcelain doll!" She looked over her delicate features and slight frame.

Rose's greens rolled heavily, and indignant furrow to her brow. "I will not be seen begging at doors like...like…"

"Some poor person who's out of money and options?" Polly duly noted as she stared unwavering at the girl.

Rose's teeth nearly ground. It was clearly a mistake telling her. "You know…" Rose stood and straightened her skirt. "This is _my_ problem." She looked at her pointedly. " _I'll_ find a solution to it."

"Doubtful." Polly mumbled watching her go. "And for God's sake!" She suddenly shouted to catch her attention. "Payment upfront!"

Rose stood mortified as Polly was hushed by those few others still in the church, their judging eyes then landed on her. Well, that certainly wasn't going to help the 'whore' rumors….

With flushed cheeks and gritted teeth, Rose made her way back to her clinic.

* * *

"I knew from the moment I saw her, she was too soft," Polly said to herself as she entered the Shelby home. Without hesitation she went passed the gambling den and straight into the kitchen, closing it behind her with a loud crack as she tossed her hat on the table and ripped her gloves from her hand. She braced her hands on her hips, immediately catching the occupants attention. Arthur and John observed her, whiskey in glass and cigarette still in hand. "Where's Thomas?" She huffed.

"Not 'ere. Took Danny 'ome after a bit of an accident." John scanned their irate aunt over. "What's wrong, Aunt Pol?"

"Rosie's in trouble." She stared them down. "The foolish girl let patients pay on loan. She's got rent due, and twelve waiting bills."

"Rosie's a dear and all…" Arthur looked to his brother. "But what's that gotta do with us?"

Polly's eyes narrowed. "Other than the fact she's the only one able to keep Finn and your terrors in place-" She glowered at John. "Rose Pryor is the Peaky Blinders' doctor. Mass with me, the picture shows with Ada, and her clinic above the fuckin' pub, the whole bloody town knows your connection." She chastised. Bracing her hands on the table, she gave each a thoroughly indignant look. "How's it look if the good doctor, the _Peaky Blinders_ ' doctor, is made to look a fool?"

The door to the snug opened once more, a rather tired look Thomas entering through it before stopping at the trio of eyes staring at him in silence. Seeing the tension in the room, Thomas's arm reached out, closing the door with a gentle nudge before pulling out a cigarette. He let the moment linger, knowing it wouldn't be good news by the tone of the room, but knowing it wouldn't be urgent since they'd gone quiet. "What?" He gruffly asked, his head bowing to meet cigarette with a matchstick.

"Rosie's in trouble." Polly repeated, hoping her gut would be right and Thomas would be a bit more eager to help.

She watching as Tommy's head raised to the point it slightly tipped back, staring down at her. "How?" He mumbled, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, his eyebrows raising slightly in a bit of surprise.

"Awe, Polly, don't scare 'im like that." John joked, chewing on a toothpick. "Rosie's owed a bit of money's all." He clarified with a shrug.

"By who?" Thomas asked throwing the matchstick into the ashtray.

"Twelve bills due."

"But _by who_?" He pressed in that calm, but louder, voice of his.

Polly's eyes never left his even as her teeth ground. "Give me a day, I'll have Finn pinch a list."

Thomas's head reared back as he turned, collecting himself before staring hard at her. His finger lifted, pointed sternly at her. "Are you fuckin' meddlin' again?" He accused her.

"She needs help!" Polly defended in a shout. "She's too sweet, too damn trusting!"

Thomas shook his head in disbelief.

"You've seen her!" Polly knew that was a bit of a dig considering the stories about them. "If she came up demanding money would you give it to her?" Probably, Polly thought, but that was a different conversation to have. "No! You'd brush her off like a beggar or worse, swat her away like a fly." She glowered at him. She'd expected more from him, considering…

Thomas's eyes shifted to a point on the table in thought. "Alright." He said quietly, the quiet acceptance lost under Polly's loud ranting.

"She doesn't understand that these peop-"

Thomas ran a hand over his face. The ex-soldier ran on little sleep these days. This growing war with the Italians was starting to exhaust him during the day, only for his own demons to keep him up throughout the night. And then there was a huge fucking mess with a wrongly picked up create Thomas didn't even want to think about at the moment.

"I said all-fucking-right!" He shouted.

Polly finally silenced. Thomas pinched his nose, trying to wake himself up as he pulled the door open the door. "Get us a list, give it to John." He pointed at the brother who was none too pleased with the assignment, his smug face slightly falling. "And tell her to get payment _first_!" He instructed Polly before leaving. The door slammed close behind him.

"I think he's sweet on her." Arthur commented in the silence that followed. Polly slapped him on the back of the head.

"Don't jinx it." She mumbled, hope in her heart as she followed him out soon after.

Polly caught the man outside the gambling den, smoking his cigarette and watching the world around him. Across the street, Finn and Isaiah raced around kicking an old can. Ever the persistent woman, she pulled out her own cigarette as she stood beside him. "What do you want with that girl, Thomas?" A loaded question despite the casual setting.

"Nothing, Pol." He plucked the cigarette from his lips, "Absolutely nothing." His own gaze stayed forward even when Polly's turned to him.

"She's a good girl." She reminded as she flicked her ash away.

Of that Thomas had no doubt. "I know." Thomas's voice was acknowledging but flat, his head slightly dipping in a nod.

"She's a not a whore." She pressed, a bit tersely.

The same bare response was given before he sucked at the end of his cigarette, the paper burning faster at the strength of it.

Polly looked him over, prying for a reaction as his eyes continued to watch young Finn and Isaiah chase each other around.

She huffed, when she got none. "Then stop doing what you're doing."

"And what am I doing, Pol?"

"Looking at her like a man _besotted_." Polly stared at him. The story of Rose being his whore may be all lies, but there was nothing but truth in the fact he looked at her like no other. Polly had seen it herself once as she and Ada had a bit of gin in the bar. Thomas surrounded by his usual group, the conversation flowed easily around their game of poker, but always and almost as if habit, his eyes would slide to the form of the good Doctor, always knowing where she was, always taking stock of when she entered. He really couldn't keep his eyes off her.

His mother and she had made damn sure, despite her brother's influences, that the boys wouldn't be complete bastards. They were raised with manners, though some would argue they never used them, and to treat women better than the men that came before them. But the way he held the door open as she approached, a quiet nod at her gracious smile, his eyes following her as she went, seemed to be less about politeness and more about fondness.

"She's a good girl," Polly repeated, blowing smoke out of her mouth. "Smart, pretty, a bit _too_ kind, and perhaps a bit stronger, _if not stubborner_ , than I know I give 'er credit for." Polly briefly smirked remembering the silent defiance she showed upon their first meeting, the pride in her that kept her from knocking on doors even when she needed it most.

"She'll be a great wife and mother." She finished. Her eyes once more turned to Thomas still unreadable. Stepping in front of him, she made herself clear in his line of sight, unwilling to be ignored as she waited for his blue eyes to fall to hers. Her voice may be low but her words were cutting. "If you don't want her, you're a fucking fool." She looked in one eye and then another. His eyes staring back with little expression before rising over her head once more. "But don't be the selfish bastard scaring away any other decent man. She deserves better than that."

Although Thomas hadn't actively done anything to deter possible suitors, they both knew that, as with Ada, the connection to his name, rumor or not, might as well have put a sign on her forehead warning death to any man who tried.

Thing was, Thomas wasn't exactly sure he had a problem with that...

His finished cigarette was thrown to the floor, snubbed out by the sole of his shoe. Finished listening, he began to walk away. Ignoring Polly as she demanded he make a choice with a holler after him.

* * *

Two days later, Rose had completely forgotten about her problem as a rather slow day took an interesting turn.

"Alice, come here, you really must see this!" Rose held a large grin as she waved the nurse changing a bed inside the surgical theater. They used for more private examinations. "It is truly remarkable." Rose closed the door behind her for privacy once Alice had entered. The two woman stood before a little old lady, easily in her seventies, sitting hunched in the chair, her small frame made even smaller by the seated position. "Look at her eyes!" Rose instructed as the nurse bent a bit to the woman's level. "The pupils, are they dilated?"

"No," Alice noted as she straightened.

"Stand up! Turn! Sit down!" Rose ordered the woman. She did as she was told. "No sign of impeded balance, no flushed skin, no fever." Rose quickly listed off to the waiting nurse. "She accidentally drank an entire flask of belladonna drops, and yet shows no symptoms of poisoning." Rose stared at Alice, clearly amazed whereas the nurse was unmoved. Alice's amber brown eyes turned to the old woman sitting before them.

"Honest to God, I did, miss. It was me, miss. No one else, miss."

The repetitiveness made Rose's head tilt, while Alice's mouth frowned. One thinking it peculiar and the other thinking it suspicious. Alice turned back to the Doctor, her mouth opening before closing when she began to speak. "This woman drank an entire flask of belladonna drops, yet displays no signs of belladonna poisoning whatsoever." Rose shook her head, astonished. "How do you explain that?" She asked Alice.

Alice stared at the elderly woman from the corner of her eye. Oh, she knew how… The woman tried to appear small and timid in the chair as soon as she realized Alice was not as believing as the Doctor was.

"It's unheard of. Unprecedented!" Rose was letting her imagination run wild. The New York-raised and war zone taught Doctor had admittedly been a bit bored by the same repetitive cases that came to her. But now, a real-life medical mystery presented itself to her and she was already lapping it up.

"What did you have for breakfast the morning after the night you drank an entire flask of belladonna drops?" She asked grabbing a notepad and pen.

The old woman swallowed looking from a quiet but judging nurse to the eager doctor. "Stale bread."

"Doctor," Alice said softly. Though never one to really speak out, she couldn't let this continue any longer.

"How strange," Rose mumbled to herself, truly curious. "I've never heard anything like it."

The door suddenly opened, the Feldsher looking at the three women disapprovingly. He walked in without a word, sighing to himself before he grabbed the old woman under her arms. "Let go of me!" She squeaked as he began pulling her from the room.

"What what are you doing?!" Rose was mortified.

"I thought I told you to come and get me when she does something stupid." Demyan chastised Alice. Rose's head slightly reared back, her eyes staring at the wall as she pondered on whether she'd heard that correctly. "Belladonna drops, is it?" He guessed as he struggled.

"Honest to God, Miss!" The old woman swore. "I took all the drops myself!" The old woman clung to the table, "No one else did!"

"You're a liar!" Demyan cursed in Russian as he was once more nearly kicked in the groin. "She's sold those drops to others and has come back for more!" Demyan gritted as he tried to pry her hands off. "You might know how to fool the woman, but not me!" He yanked her hands free of the table, sending it crashing to the floor and the tools that laid upon it.

"Honestly." He panted over the woman's head as he subdued her flailing arms, staring almost pityingly at the Doctor. "I'm not cross with you." He gave a sad smiled. "You trust too easy." Rose stared, unamused and exasperated, at the Feldsher. "They can smell this weakness." He heaved a breath as he continued dragging the old woman out the clinic.

Rose's frowned deeply at both the belittling Demyan was getting a bit blatant as well as how easily she'd been fooled. She reached down and began picking up tools scattered along the floor, each one needing to be prepared once more. "But…" Rose was in a bit of a disbelief. "That old woman… she told all those lies! She seemed so...so innocent!"

"A drug dealer." Alice finished. "She probably sells opium and the likes as well." Alice mused, bending down to help Rose.

"But she's an old woman!"

"It's a very progressive time." Alice shrugged. Rose scoffed at that rather flippant response. "While you were unavailable, Mr. Shelby stopped by looking for you. I told him you were busy with a patient."

"Which one?"

"The handsome one." Alice said.

Rose had to give a small smile, amused but not informed. "They're all handsome, Alice." Even Finn, adorable as he was, was already showing signs of those finely carved features that his brothers had as his baby fat waned. He'd soon be a looker himself, she mused.

"The older one?" Alice tried. She had no interest getting involved with the gangsters, a bit scared that Rose already seemed to be. All she knew is that they were the Shelby brothers, and as such always politely referred to them as "Mr. Shelby." The interaction, up till this morning, hadn't gone past that.

"Arthur?" Rose was a bit surprised at that.

Alice wasn't sure which one he was, and it was clear on her face. "Um…"

Rose gave a bemused smile as she sighed. "Was it the one with the mustache, the one with the toothpick, or the one-"

Alice knew he didn't have a mustache, but she couldn't remember seeing a toothpick either. What she did remember was - "He had very intense eyes and this sort of presence to 'im..." Alice noted.

 _Thomas._

Rose breathed a bit deeper at the realization, remembering their last close conversation. He did have rather memorable eyes, she could see them rather clearly even now as she let her thoughts wander.

"I said he could wait in your office," Alice continued. "but I think he left when Demyan and I were busy." The nurse gave a nod as Rose thanked her, and continued to straighten up the room when the Doctor left.

Sure enough, Thomas had left her office. But not before leaving something in his place.

A stack of what appeared to be nearly twenty single pounds were tightly rolled and bound by a rubber band, placed on the corner of her desk where a bottle of whiskey had also appeared from. Out of a habit, her eyes now flickered to the ashtray, once more a bit of ash tapped into it. She'd come to accept that as his calling card.

Picking up the roll of cash, she was baffled until she made a rough estimate. Somehow, the exact amount she needed to balance her books. Twelve outstanding bills, now complete.

Her eyes narrowed as her hand tightened on the roll. " _Oh you…_." She seethed lowly, unwilling to finish the thought. She ripped open her door only to find the Feldsher waiting at the ready.

"Doctor-"

"Fuck off!" She crudely yelled as she left angrily out the clinic door, already down the steps before Demyan could form another thought. Behind him, young Alice covered her mouth to hide a giggle.

* * *

The church was it's usual quiet self that Tuesday, only a pair of much older women at the front pew other than herself. Like her, they made sure to mind their own business, or at least they would try.

Knowing the Blinders had taken to the town last night to collect Rose's money, she waited a bit impatiently for her to arrive as usual. A bit of a smile on her face, when she thought to how Thomas had promised he'd made the message clear. Doctor Pryor was to be paid upfront from now on, no more of this nonsense. They couldn't very well be asked to "go 'round every time some came up a bit short, Pol".

Hearing the church door open, Polly turned, a small smile gracing her features as she spotted the doctor walking down the aisle, she didn't take note of the coldness to her face of the fury in her eyes. "Morning Ro-"

A good five pews back, the Doctor's arm swung, chucking something at the older woman. Small and hard, it hit her shoulder. Polly flinched, more surprised then pained at the impact. She had quite the arm on her…

Looking down she picked the item off the floor, a roll of twenty pounds, tightly bound with a rubber band.

Oh…

Polly's face clearly showed her hesitance, brown eyes raising to meet Rose's stormy green as the woman stood unmoving at the end of the pew, green eyes alight with rage despite her stoic face. "You had no right." She gritted out.

Polly, never one to be berated, stiffened. She placed the roll of cash beside her. She tried to indignantly defend her meddling. "You were-"

"Handling it!" The doctor screamed out of character, her composure gone. "It was my problem, it was my business, and the only reason you were involved was because, as a friend, you asked, and as a friend, I confide in you." She swallowed. "What we say in this church stays between you and me and god, remembered that?" She threw her own words back at her. "I confide in you as a friend, trusting you to keep your fucking mouth shut and you couldn't!" Tears welled in her eyes. "God damn it, Polly." Her voice broke. "I gave them my word, on my pride and honor, as a good Catholic woman. And you made me betray that!" She was going a bit red in the face.

Polly shifted, trying not to show the discomfort at the unexpected reaction. She'd known the girl was proud but didn't think her help would bring forth such a show. "Are you even going to apologize?" Rose dared to ask when Polly said nothing.

"No." Polly swiftly shook her head. She'd done the right thing, of this she was sure. "You're too kind, Rose. They smell this weakne-"

"Don't you dare mistake my kindness for weakness!" Rose stepped back, as if slapped, her head shaking in disbelief.

She was kind, and loving, and forgiving. Not because she was weak, but because she had seen how easy it was to become the alternative. She'd seen enough things and met enough people to know how quickly one could lose hope for their life.

But she would not let her job make her callous. She would not let her loses make her bitter. And she would not let her sworn promises, no matter how difficult to upkeep, turn her into a cold resentful woman. The war had taken much from her, as it had everyone, but she would not lose her hope for the world nor the faith in her heart.

Rose stared down at Polly with such betrayal it broke the woman's heart. "I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust." It was a quiet end to their fight, a finality Polly wasn't expecting as she left.

"Rose!" The Doctor didn't turn around as she walked swiftly from the cathedral, the large oak doors still managing to give a resounding echoing thud as they were thrown close, sending a crack through Polly's heart. _"Rose!"_ She yelled regretfully. The sound echoed in the cathedral but still fell on deaf ears.

"Miss Shelby!" A woman admonished her yelling.

"Fuck off!" Polly snapped before looking to the altar and crossing herself, remembering where she was. The woman scurried out of the church, leaving Polly to curse under her breath. All alone, she realized what Thomas had upon their first meeting. Even if you didn't notice her at first, the loss of her presence could leave a place rather cold.

* * *

Her pride had kept her from knocking on doors, but her guilt had sent her with her tail tucked.

Rose looked up at the thickly clouded sky, dark falling earlier than expected with the approaching storm, she wasn't even dressed in a coat, her idea to take a cab to the address a sporadic and not very well thought out decision when she saw the cab outside the Garrison.

"Mrs. Walters, please open up!" Rose gently knocked again."Please, Mrs. Walters." She grew hopeful when she heard the locks being undone.

"What do you want?" Edna seemed almost fearful as she stuck her head out, eyes looking straight over Rose and around her to search for signs of trouble. When she saw it was only the small doctor looking like a kicked puppy at her doorstep she relaxed a bit. "Don't got anything more to give you."

Rose stuttered. "I-I haven't come for that. I mean yes I have." She flinched pulling something from her pocket. Two pounds were outstretched to the mother, more than that of the bill forcefully paid. "I assure you, I had no intention of-"

"Threatening my family?" Edna snapped. "Arthur Shelby came to my door. Do you know who Arthur Shelby is?"

Rose nodded. "Of course you do, you're his brother's whore." Edna was spiteful. Knowing she couldn't do anything to the woman without repercussions she pressed her luck, beating the already kicked puppy.

"I'm not a whore." Rose bit the inside of her cheek at the phrase quickly becoming her new motto. "I'm a-"

"Good Catholic woman?" Edna threw the words she had sworn upon back at her. She gave a chortled laugh. "No you're not."

Rose's face fell, realization setting in that she wouldn't be taking the money she still held out to her. Her arm grew tired and began to lower. Her face became blank as Edna looked her over. "I thought you were, though… With your chocolate and your smiles and your pretty dress." The woman's eyes narrowed on the pale yellow fabric she now wore. "It's easy to fool other people but I'm smarter than that. At least I was." Edna's jaw ticked, Rose now staring expressionless and motionless on the doorstep. "You're pretty, like a flower, but you're a snake in disguise. You are not a good woman." She repeated.

Rose's face was plain, giving none of her raging emotions away. Not her fury, not her hurt, not her annoyance or her ever-growing hatred for the people of this godforsaken town. Her voice empty, tired of defending herself for the day.

And it was true. She was not a good woman...

Good women don't kill better men. _Good_ women don't lie to his mother's face...

Her tepid resolution began to be replaced with a quiet rebellion.

 _Good_ women don't sacrifice themselves to eternal damnation to put a man out of their misery.

 _Good_ women don't upheave their lives to fulfill the dream of a man long dead.

A storm began brewing in Rose. That guilt diluted by a surge of building rage.

 _Fuck them._

"You're nothing but a lying little whore, having those bastards do your dirty work for you." There was a harshness Rose hadn't expected from the woman Michael had used to say was so docile. "You think they can beat us into respecting you? You're nothing but a toff wanting to be worshiped by the poor, thinking it makes up for what you've done, what you're running from. But it doesn't!" Edna slammed the door closed, the sound of it locking heard soon after.

Rose stared at the wood blank-faced. She felt… numb, to be honest, like morphine had been injected into her chest, a dull tingle as the nerves fought to activate spreading through her heart.

Rose wasn't a good woman. She was better than that.

Rose swung back her leg and kicked harshly at the door, a ferocious scream erupting from her throat as she wished she'd just walked out of that hospital room in Belgium.

She was so tired of trying to do good only for it to bite her in the ass. Her eyes closed tightly, willing away the burning sensation in them before she left the home. She had no plan to ever return.

Rose's mind was preoccupied as she walked tiredly down the street, her pride the only thing keeping her from losing all composure as she went. She saw a cab sitting idle a few houses down, relieved she wouldn't have to walk with the inevitable storm looming overhead. Her attention turned elsewhere, she didn't register a presence beside her. Had she known the area, she would have known why Edna had locked her doors so forcefully.

Without any warning, a hand had covered her mouth and grabbed her neck from behind, her body jerked back into the dark alleyway before her face was thrown into the hard brick wall.

* * *

 **Please Review :)**

 ** **Now I know this was rough too but I promise it all goes much smoother from here!** As always thank you so much for the reviews! They really helped me get through this chapter. **


	7. S1:E0 -:- There Will Be Blood

**-:x:-**

It's time to put your hands up, time for surrender,  
I'm a vigilante, my love's defender,  
You're a wanted man, and everybody knows...  
You better call the police, call the coroner,  
Call up your priest, have them warn ya,  
Won't be no peace when I find that fool

John Legend : Who Did That To You?

* * *

 **A Woman of No Importance**

 **Episode 0**

 **Part VII: There Will Be Blood**

* * *

Without any warning, a hand had covered her mouth and grabbed her neck from behind, her body jerked back into the dark alleyway before her face was thrown into the hard brick wall. Rose gave a shocked cry as a flash of pain erupted across her face.

Disoriented and terrified, she could only give a gasp as she was dragged further into the alley. The back of her head followed the fate of the side of her face, bouncing achingly against the brick as she was spun and pinned to the wall. One hand trapped behind her, the other blindly shot out, scratching at the face before roughly grabbing the lapel of a coat jacket. She was trapped.

"Please, don't!" Was all that escaped. The storm's heavy clouds had blocked out most of the moon, leaving only an eerie and morbid glow to cast the faintest light on the man's face.

His name was Martin Changretta and he had come to the clinic a week before.

When he had seen the doctor in charge was a woman, a harmless looking thing at that, and the Feldsher was a Russian commie probably on the run, he knew he'd hit his lot.

He had left, skipping out on a rather hefty bill of four pounds with the promise to pay it back.

A promise he had no intention of keeping.

At least until John fucking Shelby showed up at his door and threatened to take his fucking eye. Sadly for him, he didn't have the money. A drunken, gambling bastard always on a losing streak, he's wasted what little he made damn near as soon as he made it. After some rather violent negotiation, he'd managed to scrimp up the money by taking it out of cash that didn't necessarily belong to him, but to his uncle. Needless to say, not all the bruises on his body were from John's fist and boot.

Drunk, twice beaten, and once more down on his luck, he went to the whorehouse for the comfort of a woman's warm body. But unlike the doctor, the whores knew to get the money upfront. With nothing but a shilling in his pocket, he was turned away.

Lucky for him he saw the doctor standing on a doorway stoop, all alone at night in the worst neighborhood to be. Unluckier still, she happened to walk his way without even a glance his direction. Martin never was one to miss an opportunity to take advantage when he could, the snake...

"Y-You can have the money." Her widened eyes took stock of her mugger's face. Dark hair, slim bumped nose, tan face darkened by light purple and yellow bruises, and pale lips stretched into a sneer.

As it had been the Feldsher that treated him, she didn't even recognize him. And the fact she didn't even after sending those gypsy bastards after him, infuriated him further. His arm braced against her throat, forcing her wide-eyed head back as she tried not to choke.

"You're that doctor." He sneered. His breath was heavy with alcohol and chewing tobacco. "So, you spread your pretty little legs like a bitch before sending the gypsy dogs to my door, eh?"

Rose tried to grip his arm with her free hand as she tried to push him off. He managed a step back, his hand clutching her necklace and snatching it away before he discarded it as if it was nothing. When he only tightened his grip, she gave a small scream and returned her hand to his lapel, trying to push him back once more.

She shook her head, her throat closing further on its own accord when his hand bunched up her skirt to the side, his hand running over her thigh. "Please, God, don't do this." She wanted to be sick.

His eyes were slightly hooded, feeling the soft skin. "You their whore?" He asked raising it higher. Rose tightened her grip on his jacket, trying to pull it and to the side if only to get him off balance, but able to do little in her vulnerable state.

Her head turned to the side, trying to will someone to pass the alleyway and maybe scare him off. She was too afraid of what he'd do if she tried to scream.

His hand gripped harshly at her thigh. "Just one, just one!" She gasped quickly. "Thomas Shelby!" The name was clear despite her breathlessness.

Sure enough, his name struck a chord of fear in the man as if she'd said the name of the devil himself. Martin paused immediately.

Rose swallowed, her voice steadier and surer as she sold the lie half the city seemed to already believe. "I'm Tommy Shelby's girl." Her green eyes clouded a bit, trying to hide her fear as she saw how his mind began processing the information.

"He's a dangerous and powerful man, but you know that." She swallowed, the familiar taste of iron coating her mouth as her lip continued to bleed. "But I'm not as quick to draw." She tried to reason with him. "I'm a good Catholic girl." She could laugh at the irony of the statement coming from her so soon. "You go home right now, confess to your priest, pray for forgiveness and we pretend none of this ever happened... alright?"

It was working. She could see it in his eyes as the fear worked its way through the liquor. He stepped back, his arm slowly moving away from her throat even though his hand remained on her thigh. _She just needed to give him a little push_ , she thought. "But if you don't…" her eyes stared straight into his. "I would imagine whatever he threatened to do for a few pound owed, will be nothing compared to what he'll do to you for this."

He appeared to see reason, his eyes lowering in thought. Rose's breath steadied, thinking the ordeal over, until his eyes suddenly snapped back to her's. There was something even more sinister in them than before. Rose's heart beat rapidly in her chest, her entire body tensing as he smiled almost cruelly.

"Who's gonna tell him?" He leaned closer to whisper, his breath dancing over her skin like spiders on her face a she turned her head away. "A dead whore?" He sneered against her neck.

Rose's face hardened, her teeth gritted as her vision sharpened, pure adrenaline ran through her veins. She turned to face the man, her entire body tensing like a coiled cobra.

 _When were these people going to learn?_

"I'm not a fucking whore." Her body gave a lunge against him, unpinning her hand from between the building. The sudden motion threw the drunk off balance as she kneed him in the groin. Using his instinctively dipped head, she ripped the gold hoop earring from his ear, taking the sharp stud across his face and eye before she pushed him off and away.

She heard the thud of his body falling back against the opposite wall but didn't wait to see if he'd fallen or followed as she ran.

Thunder crashed miles away, an echoed bang rumbling through the streets as she ran as fast as she could. Nearly no one was out, and after her encounter, she didn't dare stop in the neighborhood with those few men who were. Faster and faster she ran. Her desperate need to get away clouded her mind and numbed her body to the sudden cold and painful chill of her foot. Her body only slowed when she saw a corner store. Its lights off, and its doors locked, she didn't hesitate to fly right past it, further down the block to a familiar brick home. Her entire body collided with the door, her fists following with bangs of their own in quick succession as she looked over her shoulder for the first time.

The door gave way and the doctor with it.

"Rose?!" Polly took the girl into her arms, her body heaving with gasps and sobs as she fell into the other woman's embrace. "Ada! Get a blanket!" She called back into the house. "Rosie? Rosie, _shhh_." Polly tried to sooth the girl's hair back behind her ear in comfort and concern. What she found below the loose strands, making her knees weak. The slick warmth of tears and blood covered Rosie's cheek.

The entire left of her face was a mess. The corner of her lip was split bloody. The area around her eye was already a telling pink that would undoubtedly bruised something awful. And her cheek was roughly scratched with a faint trace of blood. Polly's gaze lowered only to find the rest o her in not much better shape. Her dress was disheveled and one of her shoes missing, leaving her foot black and bloody from the barefoot run in the streets filled with God only knew what.

"Shhh, shh, it's alright love." Polly slowly moved her to the couch where she put her down in front of the warm fire. "Shhh, shhh." Polly tried to calm her as she rubbed her arms, kneeling in front of Rose as the doctor finally let go to cling to her blanket around her.

" _Miss Rosie?_ " The small voice croaked from the stairs behind the couch, Polly and Ada looked to see Finn standing in his pajamas the commotion having woke him up.

Ada was quick to round the couch, blocking his view as Rose finally quieted. Her shoulders shook with sobs she would not allow to escape. A hand covering her mouth, she tried her hardest not to alert Finn to her troubles. She hadn't meant to cause such a scene, guilt eating away at her as she realized the commotion she'd caused. Humiliation began to creep up on her.

"Go on up to bed, Finn!" Ada scolded her little brother. But the youngest Shelby didn't move. He was transfixed by the sight around her, the doctor's cobbing form tucked against his aunts an unsettling sight. "I said up to bed, Finn!" Ada grabbed him by the shoulders but Finn looked up at her with stubborn eyes. He was too big for her to carry anymore.

"What happened to Miss Rosie?" He asked quietly. He was stricken with a sudden panic, wondering if perhaps she was here because he'd stolen that list like Aunt Polly had told him too. He really didn't want to do it, but he knew better than to not listen to his aunt.

Ada glanced behind her, knowing whatever it was, was too much for a young boy to know or hear of. "A very bad man." Was all she could tell him.

"Tommy and Arthur are gonna get him, right?" He whispered as he yielded. In his eyes, there was no greater figures, not even God, that were more powerful than his big brothers.

"And John, too." Ada promised, shooing him up.

Ada wondered if Finn knew that by 'getting him' the man would most likely be badly beaten if not killed. Perhaps he didn't, a child still naive in the world of cruel and violent men. Or perhaps he very well did. If it was the later, it made his request all the much more powerful

"I wanna get him, too," Finn promised with a familiar steeliness. Ada had to blink, almost mistaking him for Arthur in his wild gaze for a moment. The elder Shelby nodded firmly, and with it, Finn hesitantly went back up to bed, though he wouldn't sleep for hours to come.

"What happened, Rosie?"

"One of the men. I don't know." She sobbed. "I don't even know, he just grabbed me and threw me against the wall." Polly's back straightened, suspecting what happened next but fearful to hear it. "He called me horrible names and said I sent the boys after him." she whipped at her eyes flinching when she roughly rubbed her bruise. "I told him I didn't but then… He wouldn't let me go so I kicked him and scratched him and when he was down I ran and I just ran and you're the only one I could think of between there and home and-" She began to fall into hysterics as the memory replayed in her mind.

"No, no," Polly said, pulling her close as a new wave of sobs began. "Oh, what a brave girl. Good on you for fighting back." She rubbed her back. Ada stood by the couch, her arms crossed and clinging to her own cross tightly. It was seeing this that made Polly realize that Rose was missing hers.

"Ada, get the tub." Polly instructed.

"Oh, no, n-" Rose pulled back. But Ada had already gone. "I couldn't I-I'm sorry for coming I didn't know where else to go."

"Nonsense," Polly spoke, a gentleness to her as she whipped at Rose's eyes, careful of the swollen flesh darkening beneath her eye. "You make the bastard bleed?" She asked. There was a blaze in her eyes Rose doubted came solely from the fire's reflection.

The doctor nodded, her eyes widening as she opened her long clenched hand, a man's gold earring in it. The gold was coated with blood, staining the hand that held it. "I raked it across his face, tried to blind him, before I got away" She sounded almost shameful. Polly couldn't help a tight lipped smile in a bit of pity and amusement. Only Rose would feel guilty…

"Atta girl." Polly gently patted her arms, giving a reassuring but gently grip. "The boys are away on business." She didn't elaborate. "I think it best you stay here tonight. Ada wouldn't mind sharing some clothes I'm sure." She looked at the young woman who quickly shook her head, surely not going to turn her away.

Rose looked at her clasped hands shamefully. "You're being too good to me."

"Stop that."

"I spoke to you terribly."

"Perhaps you were right, I should have kept out of it." Polly felt shame of her own as she studied Rose's bloody face.

"I know I was right." Rose's eyes looked up to hers, firm as ever in the belief. "But I shouldn't have spoken to you like that-" It wasn't very ladylike, especially cursing in the church... Rose's eyes fell in shame at the late realization.

"Bygones." Polly brushed it away, their spat forgiven. "I'd knew you'd show some thorns eventually." She smiled proudly. She'd always prefer the company of a stronger woman than a meeker one. "Now," She straightened Rose's hair behind her ears. "-let's get you cleaned up and off to bed."

* * *

A good twenty minutes was spent in the tub scrubbing herself pink to get rid of the filth she felt was on her, another ten spent treating and bandaging her foot with Ada's help. Sadly, there was nothing she could do for her face beside giving it a good rub with the alcohol. The area around her eye and cheek had already turned the telltale purple, clearly swollen and painful.

Rose gently touched it as she quietly followed Ada to one of the bedrooms. The Shelby sister opened the door, revealing a sparsely decorated room with only a nightstand with a lamp, a bed, a chair, and a large chest of drawers.

"Tommy keeps a clean room." Ada informed her.

 _Of course…_ She felt out of place in the room before she even entered it. Thomas Shelby hardly seemed the type of man to appreciate people in his things.

"Well, as clean a room as any man," Ada mumbled seeing the bit of dust collected. At least it wasn't the mess of empty bottles and dirty clothes like Arthur's. "I'm down the hall if you need me. Sleep well." She smiled.

"Ada." Rose stopped her. "Thank you. Truly." She'd been so kind for a girl who'd she'd only happened to speak to a handful of times. Most of which were when she was dragged along by Finn or accompanying her aunt. Even though their interactions were few, they both seemed to like each other.

Ada pulled her into a hug. "We're friends now aren't we?" She stepped back, a fond smile on her face. "I need more people that aren't afraid of my brother." It was said with a bit of a chuckle, as ridiculous as it was true. "Sleep well, Rose." She then quietly left her to rest.

Left alone in the room, Rose's eyes began to wander. She didn't mean to snoop, but the unfamiliar place made her stiffen a bit. She'd always had trouble sleeping in new places. It'd taken her months to get used to her own bedroom, now she stood a bit nervously in another's.

On the upside, Ada was right. Thomas did keep a clean room, everything tucked away or left in place. In fact, the only thing that seemed to be out of place was the rolled fabric that peaked out from under his bed, the long slim shape giving her an idea that a stronger sniff of his room confirmed. An opium pipe. She shook her head, a bit saddened by the realization he'd gotten bad enough to need it.

The bed itself was like much of the room, the blanket was thrown a bit haphazardly to make it, neat but well lived in.

She pulled back the thin covers and slipped into the bed, a bit stiffly at first. It seemed such an offensive intrusion of such a personal space to a man so notoriously private.

It was a strange sensation to feel the change. The mattress was firmer than her own and the pillow more worn. She stared at the ceiling, the entirety of her energy dissipating as the last of the adrenaline left her.

She found comfort in the warmth of his bed in the rather drafty room. The smell not unpleasant, she noted, a rather light musk tinted what she could only assume was his soap. Rose rolled onto her stomach, her hands clutching the pillow below her head as her eyes finally closed to a dreamless sleep.

She felt safe and warm for the first time that night.

* * *

The boys had arrived back late the next morning. John had gone home to his clan of unruly children while Arthur and Tommy had returned to the house. The eldest Shelby brother fell into a seat in the living room, his eyes quickly dropping and his head nodding off to a drunken sleep.

Tommy, always one for self control, didn't share his problem. Wandering into the kitchen, the door hadn't even closed behind him before his youngest brother was at his side. Finn's expression was a cross between frustration and fear as his eyes stared up at him impatiently. "We've gotta get him, Tommy! We've _gotta_ -" The young boy pulled at his hand.

Tommy tried to be patient. "Alright, Finn, alright…" He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and gently pushed him back. "What are you on about?" He asked, bending over to be closer to his level.

The commotion had garnered Polly's attention. Clearing her throat, she made Tommy lift his gaze to her. The matriarch sharing a grim look from across the room. "Go tidy your room, Finn." She ordered.

"But my room's-!"

"Go, Finn." She didn't care where he went, she just needed him out of the room. Thomas gave the boy a little nod, Finn's face falling before begrudgingly obeying.

"Polly?" Thomas asked lowly as he straightened.

She waited patiently for Finn to be gone. Once he was far out of sight and up the stairs, she came closer. "Rose was attacked last night." Her voice low and bland, contradicting the fire in her eyes.

Thomas' face lost its composure, his face relaxing a bit in surprise before his jaw clenched. "By who?" It was lower than his usual voice, weighed down by the images it conjured. Who would be so stupid… rumor or not, to attack the good Doctor attached to his name?

"She doesn't know. But it had to have been one of the men you roughed up for payment." She sighed, a touch of guilt heavy in her heart at her part in this. "Bastard nearly raped her." She cursed, crossing her arms in front of her. Seeing the way Tommy's face tightened, she was quick to clarify. "Well nearly tried." Polly gave the lightest smile. "Our Rosie's got a bit of thorns to her." She was so proud of the girl, knowing how hard it was to fight back...

"Cut him?" He asked, his hands clenched as he placed them in his trouser pockets.

"Ripped an earring from him and slashed it across his face, she says."

Thomas's head hung in thought, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. Polly could see him struggle for a rare show of emotions. His blood was boiling, his stomach turning.

Perhaps he was a bit more than just smitten with her, Polly dared to think.

Regaining his control with a deep breath, he lifted his head. "Where is she?" He asked.

"Upstairs." She nodded to the staircase, her eyes following him as he began up it. "I let her sleep in your room." She has.

stopped on the stairs, his eyes looking down at her with clear disapproval. It wasn't the act of charity itself, but the motive behind it. Polly shrugged innocently "Arthur's room's a mess. Wasn't going to scare the girl more." She defended. She wasn't meddling last night, simply trying to give the girl comfort.

Thomas gave a low sigh through his nose before continuing up the stairs.

She'd waited till he had gone before giving a bit of a smirk. His wish to check on her himself sending a surge of hope to her heart.

She waited a minute before following after.

* * *

He'd be a liar if he said seeing her curled in his bed hadn't done something to him.

Then again, what man _wouldn't_ be affected by the sight of her? The flowing sleeves of the borrowed nightdress had bunched up, revealing slender arms and shoulder, as they wrapped around his pillow like a teddy bear. Her long lashes rested peacefully against her cheek as she slumbered. The unclosed curtains allowed a few rays of sunlight to illuminate the soft hills of her features, making her on her gold-blonde hair shimmer. Her blonde curls were in their rare loose state, curlier than he'd seen before as a few loose ringlets spilled over her face.

Thomas crouched on his haunches beside the bed, his eyes taking note of everything about her. She was a vision when she was awake, but she was an angel soundlessly asleep.

It's what made the markings on her face that much more enraging.

Ignorant to his aunt watching him from the doorway, his hand gently came up to get a better look. Thomas was careful as he brushed some of the soft tendrils back, his fingers just barely skimming the smooth flesh beneath them. She let out a peaceful sigh, Thomas' head tilting to see if she'd wake. She didn't, choosing instead to bury her face deeper into the nicely smelling pillow. He swallowed and examined the bruises once more, unsettled by such a beautiful face marked by such a garish purple shade. The bruise curved around her eye from eyebrow to cheek, swelling beneath. The only blood coming from a superficial scratch across the cheek, red but not scabbed, and a harsher split at the corner of her lower lip.

Rose seemed to give a shiver, Thomas mindlessly pulling the blanket up and over her shoulder. His room had always been a bit drafty, but he had never minded it.

"The bastard even took her necklace." Polly couldn't help but whisper from the doorway. She felt the need to alert him to the fact they weren't alone, suddenly feeling as if she'd intruded on a private moment she knew Thomas would have preferred she not see.

Tommy's head turned, keeping an ear out for anything else. She remained silent, choosing not to tell him just what a mess the doctor had arrived in.

Sure enough, the glimmer of gold was absent from around her neck. Having never seen her without it, it made him realize the vulnerability of her state. He stood and took a good step back. His mind flashing to how she'd looked when he accidentally cornered her in her office. That tiny bit of fear he'd seen then, made his stomach roll now.

"Thomas," Polly called his name was once more, but Thomas couldn't pull his attention away. "Promise me you'll kill the rotten bastard."

 _He planned to._

Realizing the day wouldn't be paused, he turned to her, his voice it's usual level of terse calm. "Wake up Arthur, beat 'im if you have to, and tell Finn I've got a job for him and Isaiah." He ignored Polly's berating look as his head dipped, fishing for a cigarette from his pockets. He checked the time pointedly, straightening to stare at her in a battle of wills. Polly sighed, defeated, and left them.

His cigarette hung between his lips as he stared down at her, the picture of her, so comfortable in his bed, burning into his memory. It'd be a sight that would shift and change as memories often do, but one he'd rely on for years to come.

Thomas Shelby was, admittedly, more than a bit besotted.

She seemed to wake at the intensity of his gaze, having felt it enough time through her months here to know how it tingled against her nerves. She'd always known he had a certain presence to him, demanding attention whether wanting it or not.

The first thing she could clearly hear was the strike of a matchstick, her eyes opening and blinking at the sudden light of the room. She didn't need a clock to know it was well past her usual waking time. Her eyes shifted across and upwards, finding Thomas Shelby lighting his cigarette, his usual three-piece suit looking a bit rumpled, and his hair a bit messed.

"Morning," He drawled around his cigarette, shaking his match to put it out. His head lifted, blue eyes catching hers immediately, no sign of anger in them, only perhaps, a bit of unguarded intrigue. "Sleep well?" His brow raised, staring down at her.

Rose's cheek ached as a more natural flush tinted her cheeks. She sat up, Tommy's eyes lowering for a moment before returning to hers. She quickly pulled the covers a bit higher, covering her improper indecently as she cleared her throat. She couldn't even look at him. "Your aunt said you wouldn't of min-"

"I do." He interrupted. He saw her eyes widening as the blush worsened. " _Normally…_ " He said a bit lower, his voice rougher in his tired state. His nose gave a sharp sniff.

"Polly tells me you've had a hard night." His eyes went to her bruise, the color even worse with her blush. "Which one was it, Rosie?"

"I don't know. It was dark." She admitted. "But I know he had a bit of an Italian accent, but I don't remember treating him." Her brows furrowed. "And he has-," she corrected herself. "He had a gold earring. And probably a nasty scratch across his face, if not missing an eye..."

Thomas nodded, taking note. As it didn't ring any bells with him, John or another surely must have known. He'd put out the word once she was gone. There wasn't a place in this city you could hide if the Peaky Blinders were after you. A fatal mistake the bastard would soon learn.

"Come downstairs when you're ready." He blew out a stream of smoke as he opened his door. "I'm taking you home."

"Are you going to kill him?" She suddenly asked, her eyes studying him carefully.

 _Yes._ There was no discussion about that. But he wanted to know, interested in her answer. His head tilted, his eyes narrowing a bit. He asked her in the same tone he had asked if she was a whore. _Knowing_ the answer but curious as to the reaction. "Do you want me to kill him?"

This time Rose gave no reply. She wasn't sure she could answer that.

It had surprised both of them.

So he stared at her a bit longer, his face truly looking like a man enchanted as he admired her blonde locks tumble over her shoulders, the blush he rather craved from her on her cheeks as she looked at him so innocently… like she belonged there. The sight provoking less than innocent thoughts.

Thomas composed himself and opened the door to leave.

"Thomas?" She stopped him.

Tommy's hand tightened on the doorknob. "Yes, Rosie?" When she didn't further, he looked at her.

Rose swallowed, needing to come clean. "He thought I was your's." She watched his unreadable face. "So, I-I told him I was. So he wouldn't…" She couldn't say it. "I figured if God wouldn't put fear into him…"

 _The devil of Small Heath just might._

Thomas's lips actually raised around his cigarette, the white paper bouncing at the motion, a near smile for a moment. "Are you asking me for a date, Miss Pryor?" His brow raised as his head tilted innocently. "How progressive." He commented before leaving, the door closing gently behind him.

Rose cursed herself when she quickly covered her face with her hands in mortification, letting out an increasingly less-rare unladylike curse when she slapped her tender bruise.

It wasn't until the blush had gone that she realized she still laid in his bed late into the morning. A new wave of mortification came over her as she quickly got out and locked the door, dressing in the clothes thoughtfully left for her on the end of the bed.

* * *

She'd seen the second-glances they'd gotten as he'd led her to his car, opening and closing the door for her like a gentleman as he took her home. Though her home wasn't far, Thomas planned on handling business right after. He fully intended to walk her to her door and leave her to her day. But when she turned back to him and offered to change so he could return Ada's things, he said yes before he'd even registered it.

She had thought it only fair after being in his space that he should get to be in hers.

The outside of the home wasn't bad, just a bit of peeling paint, and well-worn brick, but it was extravagant compared to the inside flat she'd rented. Thomas's own family home wasn't much to brag about but his eyes took in every detail of the shit-hole she'd ended up in.

"It's not much-"

"That's correct." He mumbled, a bit shaken by the state of the flat. The wallpaper was peeling and the paint flecked, the wooden floors uneven and creaky, and the home itself was rather dark and near windowless.

The only good thing about the place was Rose and Rose's things. All of which were clearly new. From her old home, he'd suspected, or from her old money, by the looks of the classy furniture.

Other than a small kitchen in one corner and a bed and nightstand at the other, the majority of the single room was taken up by the bookcases and chairs around her table.

"Why the fucking hell do you live _here_?"

He surprised her not with his language, but with the fact he seemed to genuinely care. His blue eyes looking at her like she was trying to pull a joke he didn't find funny.

"It's cheap." She said, pulling a dress from her wooden wardrobe and fresh undergarments from her drawer. She tried to be discrete by putting them under the dress, but Thomas still caught a flash of the thin lace. She was full of surprises, he noted.

While she dressed modestly most time, Rose was a bit ashamed to admit she liked a rather more risque form of underwear. The expensive and soft fabric felt nice against her skin, acting as a little secret she had that no one knew.

Lingerie and murder. She blanched at the thought. "And I...I actually don't have that much money myself." She cleared her throat. "My father-"

"Pays for things." He'd already known that. Harry had told him when asked about the money sent to her months ago.

"Yes." She sighed. "But only when I really need him to, the clinic and its equipment for example." She nervously moved behind the changing screen, her heart beating in her chest as she undressed out of sight but still in his presence. Oddly enough it wasn't fear that made her heart hammer…. No, she trusted Thomas, him having given her no reason not to. This was something else entirely.

"I'm actually rather happy here." She admitted, pulling on her dress.

Thomas gave a low disbelieving chuckle. "You have rats." He noticed the holes in one of the walls, too big for a mouse. "Rosie-"

"I lived in a war zone you know!" She stepped out from behind the divider, the hand pulling her blonde locks from her dress. He looked over, noticing the long trail of buttons down the front were still undone at top. Well passed the usual clavicles she kept hidden, the top swells of her breast seemed to heave as she huffed. A hint of a birthmark showing through the lace undergarment. Thomas' gaze fell to the flesh out of habit before looking away in respect. Rose flushed at the realization and quickly buttoned them. "Do you think that low of me?" She focused back on her argument, forcing her embarrassment away with indignation. "I'm just very confused on what it is I'm supposed to be. Half the town thinks I'm a whore, the other half think me a mindless rich 'floff' here for fun."

"Toff," He corrected her, glancing around the room, his eyes, as they always did, finding their way back to her. "It's toff." He leaned his head forward, a gesture to show he was right and she wrong. "And you're not a toff." His eyes looked at the rat hole. "Anyone argues otherwise, show 'em this place."

"It's not _that_ bad."

"It's bad." He droned.

"Well, it's not as if I have the money to-"

He turned his body towards her, staring at her pointedly. Rose bristled. He had no idea the complexity of her relationship with her parents or the money attached to them. "I'm not asking my father to pay my way. I owe him enough as it is." She added quietly.

"Owe him? You're telling me you don't bat your eyes and daddy does what you ask, money forgotten? Not even for his only daughter?"

"How did you know that?" She asked, a bit alarmed.

Thomas pointed to the pictures on her shelves. "That or you don't get on with the siblings." Not a single one held any younger or older child within them. And the largest photograph, a collection of various faces showed Rose, front, and center besides her father and mother, anyone else her age far in the back with a family of their own.

"We were quite close, actually. He died." She said softly, thinking of her younger brother. "But you are correct, I am his only daughter. And only granddaughter. To both sides..."

"They dote on you."

"They expect things of me." She sighed. "Thing that I might find myself having to do if I borrow any more money." Her tone made it clear that was the end of the conversation. "Despite what you people think of me, just because you come from money doesn't mean I need all the things I could have with it. My home is effective for the purposes in which I need it, eating, drinking, and sleeping. I don't need anything more than that." She said stiffly, picking up the borrowed shoes and clothes and handing them to Thomas. "Tell her thank you, please."

Thomas nodded in understanding. "And thank _you._ " She turned her attention back to him. He nodded once more.

He waited till the door locked behind him before casting another look over the building, making a mental note of a new problem before leaving.

* * *

Since the war, Tommy had become disillusioned with the small town in which he had called home. He no longer took comfort in the simplicity of family and a humble life. Though his family would always come first, he wanted more. When he'd returned he'd been colder, angrier than he once had been, his smiled rare and his laughter rarer.

They'd all certainly been affected by the war, but with Arthur being the craziest of them all, a mad dog with no leash, it'd been up to Tommy to take on the weight of the family and the gang. It was fine at first, but over the course of the past two years, it'd become clear that Thomas had taken over. For the better, they'd agreed. Always the brains, his new ruthlessness had combined beautifully to take the gang to new heights, their fingers now in more pies than they ever thought possible.

The only person who had a problem with this change was Arthur, who, outside the gang, was still widely believed to be the man in charge. But anyone who stood in a room with the two could see Thomas Shelby was the man to talk to.

And for this reason Vicente Changretta didn't even spare Arthur or John a glance as he sat opposite the gangsters. As the Shelby's had, he removed his hat respectfully, revealing well combed but receding gray hair.

"Your nephew's come scurrying to you for protection. Do you know why?" Thomas calmly asked as he watched the older Italian man light his cigar.

Vicente Changretta, more commonly called "Vinny", and his gang of WOPs had been a thorn in the Peaky blinders side for some time now, often trying to force their way onto Shelby territory. It was a pesky annoyance, for the most part. Their rivalry made of mostly overlapping protection extorsions, stolen shipments from each other, and a few bad fights. One of which Rose had coincidentally stitched up the aftermath of months earlier. But the deaths of which they'd traded had been few and far between. Acts made in the heat of passion, followed by swift violence against in retaliation before things simmer down once more. As almost all of the men had been in the war, they saw no reason to try to start another one.

Still, the sides had little rest between each other.

"You came to talk peace." Vinny ignored the question.

"You know why I've called for this civilized, very public, sit down?" He referred to the restaurant in which they sat that quiet afternoon. Outside both their comfort zones, each man covered by two others, the weapons left in their holsters and their hands clear on the table.

"You are scared, Mr. Shelby?" His grey mustache twitching as he nearly sneered.

Tommy's jaw ticked. "No." He shook his head gently. " I'm trying to be a civilized man. _We_ are _civilized_ men." He nodded to the table they sat around. "We're _bad_ men." He guiltlessly admitted. "But we're fucking civilized." His blue eyes burned into Vinny's brown. "All, but your piece of shite nephew Martin." He pulled a cigarette from the pack on the table.

Vinny tapped the end of his cigar. The drooping bags under his eyes giving him a permanent look of exasperation. "You're here because some doctor-"

"The Doctor's not important." Thomas cut him off.

"I disagree." He shrugged. "Here you are foaming at the mouth because of her." He knew very well what his nephew had done, the stupid fucker. But family was family no matter how distant, and even if Martin was a useless bastard, he owed it to his dearly departed cousin to look after her boy. His cigar was pointed at Thomas. "She says she's your woman. Is that true, Mr. Shelby? Is she yours?"

Even his own brothers waited to hear a response. None would come. "I've come here to talk terms for peace." He reminded.

"Now, we bad but civilized men had an unspoken agreement." Arthur sneered from his seat. "No fucking women and children."

"Maybe it's time that changed." One of Vinny's men spoke up, his butting into the conversation putting them all a bit more on edge. His words did him no favors either. Vinny, not Tommy, being the one to shoot him a silencing glare.

Tommy steely gaze stayed fixed on Vinny, a sarcastic little smile lighting his face for a moment, amused. "What are you gonna do, Vicente? Gonna go after the whores?" He made a pinched look of disregard. "Only women we care about are few and far between. But _you_?" he pointed his cigarette accusingly. "I doubt you'll get much work done with your men guarding your _wives_ , your mothers, your nieces, your _daughter_ , aunts, cousins-" he listed quicker and quicker. "Hell, your fucking _barmaids_." He jabbed the cigarette at him once more. "All their blood will be on your fucking hands." He stared at him with slightly widened eyes, the sad truth of his words clear. Vinny gave a subtle shift Thomas didn't miss. "For what?" He abruptly asked, his low voice raspier than usual in his quiet disgust. "A fucking coward who'd hurt a good Catholic woman alone at night, rather than caught up four pounds _rightly_ due?"

That certainly caught his attention. Unbeknownst to Tommy, Martin had taken those four pounds from money intended for Vinny. And Vinny had beaten him double for it. His adam's apple bobbed as he thickly swallowed, clearly understanding the severity of the situation he'd been backed into.

Thomas Shelby was right. They had more women and more children to be caught in their crossfire. For every one of the gypsies, they killed there'd be three more Italian women anticipating retaliation.

He was caught in a bad place. And Thomas knew it. "Hand 'im over." His head slightly nodded. "And we'll talk peace. No man, or woman, has to get hurt." He waited patiently for him to accept the deal.

Vinny hesitated.

"Don't rush," Tommy said in that quiet smugness. " _Unlike you_ , we don't have wives to get home to."

The three brothers sat back, none with a pretty wedding band on their finger like the three men opposite them.

The Italian gangster's head fell forward under the weight of his conscious, a single nod that sealed Martin's fate. He convinced himself that this was deserved, not just for the woman or acting without authorization, but for stealing money from him, four pounds or not.

* * *

It was late in the evening when Rose saw Thomas again.

Following his departure, she'd found Finn and his friend Isaiah sitting outside her doorstep, a firm look on both their faces as they played guard. Under Thomas' orders, they were told to keep an eye on her until Tommy said otherwise, no one was meant to bother her unless Rose gave the okay. Given a job by Thomas Shelby was an honor to them, and without hesitance, they sat on the stoop and waited.

Isaiah was ecstatic to be trusted while Finn was just happy to 'be helping' Miss Rosie. As the boys waited they'd exchanged overdramatic ideas about what the elder brothers would do once they found the bastard. That's where Rose found them: eagerly listing the forms of punches Arthur would give 'im, before snapping to attention at her door closing behind them.

She had work to do, despite her sour mood.

But one look at that damned Leopold Lepolchavishc painting as she'd come into the clinic with Finn and friend behind, and she knew she had no desire to see people today. So she'd gathered the things needed to be done and retreated to the seclusion of the pub's snug. It was a place few would dare come looking for her.

It was, however, the notorious meeting place for the Peaky Blinders, and as such, she expected they'd need it eventually. But as the day stretched on, she remained unbothered.

Any familiar chattering outside the door stopping as soon as Finn's voice would call out they'd better leave her alone.

They did.

And for hours Rose managed her reading, paperwork, and letters without interruption. The very few exceptions being Finn or Isiah poking their head in to ask if she wanted anything or they could do anything to help. Rose would smile appreciatively despite the pain it caused and graciously say no. She was nearly done anyway.

She'd darted up to her office, her raised hand halting any and all words from the Feldsher as she deposited finished files in her office. In and out, she was back at the snug, a new addition to the previously empty room.

Thomas Shelby stood at the private counter, lighting his cigarette as he waited for Harry. She quickly moved to the mess of paperwork on the table, straightening it to gather. "Sorry, I'll leave."

"Two whiskeys." He ordered the barkeep, ignoring her. "Irish and Scotch."

Her attention piqued at the words. Her hands stacked the paperwork in her arms, gripping the paper as she came to pause. "Stay." He told her not facing her. She could see Harry's troubled look as Thomas nodded for him to close the window doors. With a single nod from Rose assuring it was fine, he went ahead and left them to their privacy. Rose hesitantly resumed her seat at the other end of the table.

He sat in his usual seat, a separate chair at the end of the table between it and the snug window. He didn't like the bench much anymore, the unmoving wood making him feel trapped in a way that made his skin itch.

He slid the whiskey over to her, his head falling back a bit as he took a sip of his own.

Rose noted there was a clear tiredness to him as she stared at his profile.

She wasn't wrong.

Within the hour of striking their deal, Martin had been delivered by Vinny, with the simple request he make the death quick. For his part, Thomas had every intention of following through with it. At least until the realization set in for Martin. As he was forced to his knees in front of the brother, he begged and pleaded, sniveling lies and slander. He didn't even know her name, he admitted. And when the gun was cocked and aimed at his head, he'd said something truly desperate. " _The whore came on to me_!"

Thomas' blood was set to ice. That inhuman coldness he'd become famous for hardening his features and intensifying his gaze.

Martin had taken the momentary distraction to lunge forwards and struck him, knocking the gun from his hand as he landed a single punch.

Thomas brothers jumped but had no need to intervene as Tommy's fists slammed into the stomach and face of the slower and less experienced man. The cracking of bone drowned out by his cheering brothers. Only when Martin had fallen to his knees, barely able to keep his bloodied eyes opened, had Thomas picked up his discarded gun and fulfilled his promise. "She's the fucking Doctor." Thomas pulled the trigger.

In the quiet of the snug, Thomas closed his eyes, letting the smoke saturate his lungs before slowly letting it blow out. His eyes opened, staring at the door ahead of him.

"Why are you here, Rose?"

"Oh, well I had paperwork to be done but the idea of having to see, or hear, or be near Demya-"

"Not the Garrison. The city, Rose." He sounded worn out as he ran a hand over his tired face. It was just past six in the evening but it felt well past midnight for the man who hadn't slept in days. Rose was immediately concerned.

"I followed a guy." She summarized what Polly had once implied. She took a healthy sip of her whiskey. "He wanted to open the clinic and I came to help but… well, things don't always work out." She simplified.

"You stayed?" He looked towards her from the corner of her eye, his head gently rested back against the wall.

"Admittedly I had my doubts but I think I'm starting to like it here."

"The rats?'

"I like the people… _some_ of the people." She clarified a bit colder than he was used to hearing.

"Which people would that be? The thieves? The whores, the-?"

"Alice and Finn are rather delightful." She cut him off. "Ada's a pleasant distraction and Polly's always good for advice or a laugh. Harry's of course rather friendly, always ready to take my mind off something. And then you're…"

"I'm what?" His eyebrows raised in challenge, still not looking at her, despite knowing full well her eyes bore into him.

She swallowed, thinking about what a nice profile he had. "You're not as bad as they tried to make you out to be." Which was a complete truth, despite Thomas' refusal, as the notorious gangster, sans their meeting, had been nothing but polite and civil towards her.

Thomas nearly scoffed, his head rolling back and forth gently on the wall in a lazy shake of it. "I'm a bad man, Rose." He admitted for the third time that day. A look of relaxed acceptance on his features as his left brow slightly raised. "A bad man who does bad things."

"I don't believe that." She surprised him with her cold firm tone. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, his head slightly turning. "I've seen bad men. I've _met_ bad men." There was this cold fury in her eyes he hadn't expected. "You're not a bad man." She shook her head. "I've seen you, Tommy."

There it was again, that familiar name she seemed so reluctant to call him despite the fact damn near everyone else did. It seemed to have a different connotation when she said it. A familiarness she wasn't quite ready to admit.

"I've seen you with Finn," Rose thought of how he looked after him. "Seen you with Ada, with Danny... You're not a bad man, Tommy." Her face softened as Tommy's eyes fell to the floor. "You're a good man who simply does bad things."

For a moment he almost let himself think it was true. "If you believe that, you might not be as bright as I thought."

She swallowed as turned her gaze to the table below. "So I've been told." She seemed angry. All this mess could have been avoided. "Too trusting, too kind, too generous, too fucking _soft_." A self-loathing began to seep into her.

The way she spat the word after the curse made his jaw tick. It was a sharp turn from the girl he preferred.

"Maybe Polly's right." She finished gathering her paperwork. "Maybe being hard is the only way to survive in this city." Rose stood up then, tucking her papers to her chest with one arm as she picked up the glass and took a large gulp. She walked over, placing the glass on the snug's private counter.

That's when she saw it. As Thomas turned to place the finished cigarette in the ashtray, he gave her a view of the side of his face he'd precariously kept hidden.

The scratch and bruise just barely circling around the eye in a subtly crescent, the darkening flesh was more prominent to the side of his eye, then under it. Her concern blinded her to her previous annoyance.

"Are you mocking me, Mr. Shelby?" She asked with that same teasing tone he'd done to her that morning, seeing the bleeding scratch to the side his eye. It was a poorer imitation of her own. "Always have to one-up the other, don't you?" She teased, her hand reaching out with a napkin to dab at the blood. She was gentle, a true healer, focused on her inspection and missing the way Thomas' eyes gazed up at her.

This Rose: kind, and gentle, and calm… _soft_. This was the Rose he wanted to see.

Her hand fell down his cheek, in an innocent action, lightly pushing the underside of his sharp jaw to turn his head for better inspection. However, alone in the snug, the innocent action didn't feel so innocent.

His hand grabbed her wrist, quickly but without malice, startling her as he raised from his chair. The doctor took a step back, scolding herself. She'd let herself be caught in an overly affectionate gesture, probably annoying him if not angering him. She tried to pull her hand away only for Thomas' grip to remain. His much larger hand easily engulfed her wrist. She took a step back, him following with one closer. His hand lowered her wrist to her side as his free hand lifted to her cheek.

"Always the doctor, never the patient." He murmured, cupping the injured cheek so his thumb lightly brushed the yellowing flesh on the outside of her bruise.

And then, unexpectedly, his hand lowered down her cheek, his rough and warm hand stroking the flesh as it settled on her neck. A simple, yet perhaps too comfortable gesture. Rose's cheeks pinkened but she made no move to stop it. She rather enjoyed it, these little touches. Never quite proper but never crossing the line to ungentlemanly. A summary of the man that stood before her, Rose mused.

"Polly was wrong, Rose." His head bowed towards, staring at her through those dark lashes.

Her voice failed her. His freckles seemed more prominent up close. The faint brown spots mostly dusted over the bridge of his nose and under his cheeks, fainter and fainter as they spread with a few strangling groups at the upper corner of his lip. Her mouth finally opened when he lifted his head, her blue eyes no longer pinning her in their stare when he moved closer.

Her eyes closed on their own accord, her face slightly turning into his, her gentle sigh delightful on his neck as his lips pressed gently to her temple. Too long to be chaste, too sweet to be friendly affection. Rose's heart was aflutter, not expecting the reaction, as he looked down at her, his hand gentle and warm against her neck. "Be soft, Rose," he whispered above her ear. Her green eyes hesitated to open when she felt the warmth of his body fade, his hands removing themselves from her with an almost unwillingness as the fingers stretched to keep contact just a bit longer. They skimmed across her skin, once more provoking a feeling of intimacy she wanted to linger.

Thomas took a stepped back, pulling a small white box out of his pant pocket before handing it to her. Grabbing his cap, he adjusted it back on his head as he walked out the door.

Rose waited till he had gone before placing her paperwork down and opening the small white box. Laying on the cotton cushion was a simple silver cross necklace. Rose picked it up, letting the fine chain fall back over her fingers as she held the simpler design in her hand, her thumb running over its smooth surface in thought. An internal debate playing across her features before they hardened in determined. She placed the necklace over her head, letting it fall fittingly down her chest. Rose's fingers laid over it, pressing the cold metal to her heart as she made her choice.

She wouldn't let the world make her hard.

* * *

 **Please Review. :)**

 ** **Reminder: the views expressed by the characters are not my own.****

 **So what was your favorite part?!**

 **Thank you all so much for reviews! Special shout out to my usuals: Steph, burgessinthestreets, 1MoreInMe1, StephLauren, 'I was just thrusting you'. You're so good to me, I'm glad you're loving it! Also hello newcomers! (CrimsonRae so glad to have brought you out of retirement! lol). While I was really encouraged to write, this chapter took a bit long because its such a HUGE turning point not only in their relationship but the story as a whole (some of you might have picked up on how I've set the stage for canon series points too). Now, with the characters introduced and the stage set, we head into the episodes! :) I'd really excited to hear what you guys think!**


	8. S1:E1 -:- In Walks Trouble

**-:x:-**

He'll rekindle all the dreams it took you a lifetime to destroy  
He'll reach deep into the hole,  
heal your shrinking soul,  
but there won't be a single thing that you can do  
He's a god, he's a man, he's a ghost, he's a guru  
They're whispering his name through this disappearing land  
But hidden in his coat is a red right hand

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds : Red Right Hand

* * *

 **A Woman of No Importance**

 **Episode 1**

 ** **Part I: In Walks Trouble****

* * *

There was a cold chill to the air as the wind whipped in between building, clearing a bit of the smoke and smog from the area. Rose tilted her head back and closed her eyes in forced relaxation. A rare bit of sunlight managing to push its way through the parting clouds, countering the cold with its occasional warm ray of light. She told herself to just enjoy it. It was a happy day, she repeated in her head, she wouldn't let him ruin it.

"Hold the ladder!" The accented voice was higher than she had ever heard it, something unmanly and downright ridiculous considering the source it had come from.

"I _am_ holding the bloody ladder!" Alice nearly growled.

Rose flinched, opening her eyes with a tired sigh. Demyan struggled under the weight of the sign.

 _ **Small Heath Health Clinic**_ , read the brass lettering on the wooden board.

If this didn't put those nasty rumors to rest once and for all, she didn't know what would.

Rose wiped a stray tendril of hair from her face, making sure to wrap it around the bun at the back of her head as to not have to deal with it again. Her eyes looked at the glimmering letters with pride, knowing it had cost a pretty penny, so to speak, but feeling it was more than worth it.

The clinic had begun getting more steady work the past month, and more work meant more money. Not only was she able to keep her bills in check and Alice and Demyan's pay's consistent, she'd even managed to scrap a few pounds together with the intent of paying back her father.

Or at least, she had begun to.

The fruit of that effort currently rested in Demyan's shaky hands.

Again, perhaps not exactly needed but worth the cost in Rose's opinion.

It added that finishing touch to the clinic she'd given months of her life and buckets of her sweat and tears into opening.

The only downsides to the prosperity was that she had far less time to help Finn with his reading and Polly seemed to take the good turn in fortune as proof she was right to meddle. Both of which seemed insignificant compared to first half a year she spent here.

The Russian cursed again, unashamed by the women's scolding as he wobbled on the rickety old wood. Demyan Lukich, a man well over six feet tall, was afraid of heights.

Rose was torn between laughing at the unexpected weakness and pitying him. Alice, who held the ladder below him, was not so inclined to self-control. A string of her own muffled giggles flowing every time he'd clutch at the ladder and swear to the heavens. Each time she did, made Rose lose a bit of her own composure, putting a fist to her mouth to cover her snickers with a cough.

It was childish and in poor taste but so deserving for the man who seemed to enjoy spouting his superiority.

Backed against the railing, she stood with her arms crossed and shoulders shaking every time his voice rose in pitch at the slightest squeak of the old ladder. He wasn't even three rungs up! Rose nearly rolled her eyes. They'd be done by now if he'd just focus.

When he managed to finally hook the sign, he immediately turned his head back to her. "Can I get down now?" Demyan angrily asked, a quiver in his tone as Alice purposely took her hands off the ladder.

"No. It's high on the left." Was all she gave, she wouldn't indulge his snideness this morning. Another thing that had grown: her confidence. She would remain kind and soft, as she promised, but perhaps taking a bit of Polly's advice and showing her thorns more often would help.

 _"Morning, Mr Shelby."_

 _"Morning, sir."_

Through the busy street, the echoes were unmistakable as various voices called out well wishes and good mornings to Mr. Shelby. Interest piqued, Rose forgot to answer as she looked over her shoulder to see Thomas ride through the street on a dark horse.

All those who spotted him tipped their hats and said their greetings, not waiting for a response they knew wouldn't come before moving along out of his way.

He caught sight of a light purple dress above the street, a bright spot amongst the dingy alley. His eyes were drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

Seeming to catch sight of the familiar figure, his head tilted up, his eyes meeting Rose's. She gave a polite nod with her usual smile, following the rest of the crowd. Thomas gave a slight nod back before passing under and through. Rose's green eyes followed him, noting how at ease he seemed on such a loud street without a saddle.

Her attention was pulled away by a clattering. "Watch the ladder, Demyan!" She scolded loud enough for Thomas to hear. The Russian let out a string of words in his native tongue, the clear frustration on his face and the sharp tone makes her doubt they were appropriate for the female company.

"Demyan!" She scolded once more, firmer, and clearly running out of patience.

* * *

The cranks and billows of factories and iron works were soon replaced with the joyful shouts from children as Thomas walked down the less rowdy Watery Lane.

The horse returned and the word spread, he returned home to see the fruits of his labor.

Throwing his cigarette to the ground, he pulled his cap off, giving his hair a bit of a smoothing as he walked past the empty front room and into the kitchen.

As he entered the kitchen, he caught sight of Finn at the table before the fire, his similar blue eyes meeting Thomas's as he watched the doorway with baited breath. A casual glance at first, Thomas' suspicion was aroused when Finn quickly turned his head at catching his brother's eye and chucked something into the hearth. Thomas did a double-take at the action. As all children do, the younger Shelby thought himself faster than he was, and silently hoped Tommy would continue on without a second glance.

No such luck.

" _Finn?_ " Tommy drew out his name in a questioning manner as he approached the boy with a bent and studious head. Finn tried not to meet his eyes. But Thomas' gaze was infamous and powerful, as soon as the pairs met, Finn knew it was game over.

Immediately, he tried to take the focus off himself. "Arthur's mad as hell." He warned. His eyes gave a small widen when Thomas bent down to pick the cigarette he'd pinched from John. The rolled paper hadn't quite made it into the fire. Thomas held it up scoldingly, his brows raising in silent disapproval before tossing it into the flame.

"What does a ten-year-old know about hell, eh?" He tapped the boy's head with his cap.

"I'm eleven Sunday!" Came the indignant defense.

Tommy's face lit with a hint of a smile and an amused wheeze before straightening. As if they could forget, the way he went on about it... "Go help Rosie." He gave a slight push from behind, watching as the soon to be eleven-year-old grabbed his own razorless cap and raced off, always eager to help the pretty doctor and be rewarded with a bit of chocolate or a story.

Hearing the front door slam close, he parted the heavy curtains before him, the muffled sounds behind them exploded into a full frenzy the moment the wood doors they concealed were opened.

The gambling den was in full swing. Men lined up to place their bets as the Blinders called out odds and horses, John at the head the crowd with his large blackboard showing all the odds. One name stood out among the fray, repeated again and again as it was called and ordered. _Monaghan Boy._

His morning appeared to be well spent.

"Place your bets here now for the 2:30 at Kempton!" They called for final bets that day.

Thomas walked behind the bet takers, taking note of the eagerness in which men laid down full wages for a horse they believed bewitched to win.

"Tommy!" Seeing his brother, John dropped the chalk and picked up a book, promptly coming through the crowded room with an eagerness to his grin. "Tommy! Tommy, look at the book!" John held the book closer for him to see, one hand supporting it as the other ran below the line he was meant to read. "Just look, Tommy! All on Monaghan Boy." He tapped it approvingly as he stared intently at his brother, eager for his reaction. He was rewarded with a flash of a grin and proud clap on the shoulder from him.

"Good work, John." Tommy gave him a brotherly shake as intense blue eyes roamed over the spreadsheet.

"Tommy!" Both brothers looked up to see the third standing furiously at the door to his office. Finn wasn't lying. Arthur was mad as hell. "Get in here, now!"

With a cool face, Thomas followed him into the office, closing the door soundly behind him.

He leaned his shoulder against the wall, choose to stand on one side of the desk as he watched Arthur take his seat behind it. His hands slipped into his pocket, the only emotion on his face a bit of judgment at the sight of Arthur opening a whiskey bottle so early in the morning. He waited impatiently as his brother filled the glass.

Thomas gave a low huff of a sigh. Apparently, he was the only sober one around here anymore.

"You was seen doing the powder trick down at Garrison Court." Arthur finally put the bottle aside.

"Times are hard." His eyes fell to the filled glass, a bit annoyed he had to explain his reasonings. The glass in front of his brother was a clear reminder why he shouldn't have to in the first place. His blue eyes rose to his brother's duller ones. "People need a reason to lay a bet."

"There was a Chinese..."

"The washer women say she's a witch. It helps them believe." Tommy watched as Arthur gulped down the entire glass.

With a loud clanging thud, Arthur slammed the glass back on the desk. "We don't mess with Chinese." His voice, naturally higher and rougher in pitch, was only enhanced by his whiskey and anger.

Tommy's head tilted to the windowed walls of the room, the busy den still filled with men laying bets. "Look at the book-"

Arthur slammed his palm on the desk. "Chinese have cutters of their own."

"We agreed, Arthur." Tommy regarded him with a sense of coldness. "I'm taking charge of drumming up new money."

He was taking charge period, and both men knew it.

Arthur stared at him, clearly displeased as he massaged his knuckles in the nervous manner he often did. Yet another reason Thomas was now in charge. Arthur was always all fight and little patience. He had the balls to run into open gunfire, but never the wits to wait and see who'd fire first. Anticipation never sat well with him.

"What if Monaghan Boy wins, Tommy? You fixing races now? Do you have permission from Billy Kimber to be fixing races, _hmm_?" Thomas only blinked, remaining silent as his brother asked questions he already knew the answer to.

Arthur stood and leaned over the desk towards his brother. His back slightly arched like the hackles of the mad dog he was often compared to nowadays. It was an intimidation method that might work on anyone but him.

"Then what's got into you? You think we can take on the Chinese and Billy Kimber?!" Thomas' eyes glanced down to the ground briefly. "Billy's got a bloody _army_!" Arthur motioned outside the door to the office. Their gang was only thirty men strong while Kimber's connections reached far wider and deeper. More men, more coppers, more guns, more money...

Thomas' eyes raised to meet his brother, the lighter blue narrowing for a moment. "I think, Arthur. That's what I do." He pushed off from the wall and came to lean over the desk as well. A battle of will occurring between the brothers as they stared each other down. "I think so that _you_ don't have to."

Arthur's jaw ticked, knowing it was a subtle reminder to stop questioning him. His eyes lowered just briefly. The battle was over. Their trouble was not.

"There's news from Belfast." He begrudgingly informed as Thomas opened the door. The younger brother paused only a moment before continuing out. Arthur followed with quick strides after him. He wouldn't be fucking ignored. "I'm calling a family council tonight at eight o'clock!" Thomas turned back briefly as he hollered from the door. "I want all of us there!" Thomas resumed his walk out just as quickly as he's paused it. " _You hear me?!_ " Arthur screamed as his brother rounded the corner, disappeared from sight. "There's trouble coming!" He warned.

He could feel it in his aching knuckles, like a dog senses a storm on the wind. Except this storm didn't ride on the wind, it rode on a train.

And a mere hour after he'd said it, one Inspector Chester Campbell boarded a train from Liverpool to Birmingham.

* * *

The heavy wood doors were pushed open with more than enough force, the extra heft to the push used to relieve a bit of tension that had built in his walk over. Thomas didn't bother returning the nods or greetings he was offered this time, beelining it to the end of the bar top. He removed his hat out of habit, placing it on the freshly buffed bar top.

Mere moments after he'd settled, Harry had put a polished glass and an open bottle of Irish Whiskey in front of him. "On the house, Mr. Shelby." He offered with his usual smile. Thomas put down two coins anyways, the price for a single glass. Unlike his brothers, he preferred to stay sober when working.

His eyes wandered to the doctor crouched behind the bar, her blonde locks piled atop her head in a messy bun as she counted bottles and took notes. His peace was ended when a familiar, but unwelcome, presence appeared beside him.

"I'll take a mild." Freddie told the barkeep. He was presented with his beer quick enough. Freddie's hand slid over, his fingers pressing on one of the coins Tommy had put down before sliding it in front of himself. Thomas gave a huff of a laugh, his head slightly shaking at the gall of the man.

Harry froze, his eyes darting to Thomas to ask permission to take the payment. When no answer came, he instead left the two to their conversation, making himself scarce.

"Cheers, Thomas." Freddie raised his beer to him as his back leaned against the polished bar top. He observed the pub's occupants as he drank heartily from the mug. "Good health to you." It was a sarcastic hope as he placed the beer down and picked up the discarded cap.

Freddie looked at the two razor blades sewn into the peak, the always sharp silver gleaming in the light. Like those of a General's rank insignia, in this town, they showed he was a man of high power, one best not to anger. "The crown of a prince." He joked, before throwing it back onto the bar. "Soon to be King, I'd bet."

"You don't bet." put

"No, but these past few days I've been speculating." Freddie gave him an observing once over.

Silence fell between them before Thomas' brows gave a small jump. "About what?"

"One of my Union comrades has a sister, works in the telegraph office at the BSA factory. She says over the past week they've had messages coming up from London to the brass - from Winston Churchill himself." Freddie came closer, bracing his elbows on the table as his voice dropped low so he wasn't overheard. "Something about a robbery." Thomas blew the smoke from his mouth, his eyes finding Rose once more. "A robbery of national significance, it said." Freddie dug deeper, his eyes glancing to the woman as well before returning to the gangster. "She found the list of names left on the telegraph machine. And on that list, was your name and my name together." Thomas finally spared him a moment of eye contact, his interest piqued. "What kind of a list would have the name of a communist and the name of a bookmaker side-by-side?"

Thomas had heard enough. "Perhaps it's a list of men who give false hope to the poor." He turned to him then, regarding Freddie with the cold recognition one regards a passing stranger proving a slight annoyance. "The only difference between you and me, Freddie, is that sometimes my horses stand a chance of winning." His brows lifted in expectation, waiting for the usual slew of communist posturing. Always a sure fire way to change Freddie's focus.

But here, amongst others, Freddie didn't dare.

He looked back at Thomas with the same unfamiliarity. How had they once been best friends? Freddie sniffed, straightening his posture to lean over the man. "You know-" He began quietly. "-there are days when I hear about the cuttings and beatings that I really wish I'd let you take that bullet in France."

The smile Tommy gave was an amusement born of secret resentment. "Believe me, there are nights I wish you had." Nights when he woke up, the flames licking at his flesh, the smell of clay and soil so deep in his nose he thought he was suffocating. Nights when he had to get out of the house because every wall seemed to be moving closer and closer, collapsing in on him as his chest felt heavy and his body tensed and shook, awaiting the eventual defenseless immobility. Nights like last night….

He put the glass to his lips, taking a healthy swallow.

His cold empty stare at the mirror ahead was blocked when a familiar form stepped in front of it. Blue eyes immediately turning up to see Rose watching them, a slight bounce to her eyebrow as she looked between the two men and their obvious tension.

Perhaps Ada hadn't exaggerated, she thought, taking note of the icy demeanor under the appealingly friendly conversation.

There was a secret she didn't expect to be keeping. Ada Shelby was seeing, and sleeping with, Freddie Thorne.

Maybe it was the class in which she was raised, where young socialites dare not reveal such scandalous events as meeting wanted men in dark boat tunnels, but Rose felt as if she'd been slapped when Ada confessed she had fallen in love, and in bed, with a man like Thorne.

Ada had sworn her to secrecy, citing that she keep it if not as a dear friend then as a close confession.

Apparently, Polly had told her about the sanctity of their informal church confessions. And while it had been inside the picture house rather than a church, Rose knew this information was never to go beyond the two of them. Rose sunk low in her chair, rather unlady like as the unexpected secret added a new weight she hadn't been expecting so soon. Certainly not when Ada casually added that Thomas would just as soon see Freddie dead then let them be together. Rose thought for sure it was an exaggeration of a guilty and love torn heart, but in voicing so Ada had given her a look of disbelief. "I figured you of all people would know how over-protective he can be."

Rose didn't know what she meant by that but let it slip, assuming it had to do with his handling of Martin Changretta the month previously.

Rose bit her tongue, her lips slightly pursing. It wasn't her business, nor her problem. She placed her hand on the coins, sliding them off the edge of the counter and into her waiting palm. No dispute was given from either man, so having gotten what she had come for, she forced a polite smile before leaving them.

As per his bad habit, Thomas' eyes followed on their own accord.

"So it's true then?" Thomas gave a slow blink, the sound of Freddie's voice picking at his nerves. "She's your little misses?" The communist laughed bitterly. "Never could leave the good ones alone could you?" He spoke from a place of past fondness, briefly recalling those younger days when Thomas would tuck in a suit too large for him and try his best to look more than a drunken thieving gypsy's son. Oh, how the girls would giggle and swoon at his blue eyes and wide grin... Freddie's eye twitched. He couldn't recall what he looked like smiling. He couldn't remember most people's smiles now.

Before France, Thomas was quite the ladies man. Few could say no to those sparkling baby blues. Now those blues had been tinted with a chilling frost. Thomas looked at Freddie with cold contempt at the subject being brought up. And yet, he made no noise, move, or signal to either confirm nor deny it.

Freddie put his elbows on the bar, leaning over to get a better look at the pretty doctor. "Good Catholic girl like that-"

The bar doors crashed open, giving most a fright. "They're going to get me!" Danny "Whizbang" was having yet another one of his woken nightmares. He crashed through and knocked over a few tables, creating quite the mess before Thomas, Freddie and a few others were able to take action.

Having learned her lesson, this time Rose stayed behind the bar, looking on with a heartbroken expression as the men kept away or tried to corner him like a wounded animal. Freddie and Thomas were amongst the group, one before and behind him as they trapped him between them. Danny kept up the fight begging for help, curing at the bastard to let him go, punching, kicking, and eventually grabbing a broken bottle and swinging it.

As soon as the weapon was introduced to the chaos, Thomas and Freddie were forced to act. "On three!" Each grabbing an arm, they managed to wrangle the jagged shards from his grip. "One, two, three, down!" With their combined strength they lifted Danny from his feet and tossed him onto the floor.

"Breathe, Danny, breathe!" Freddie reminded as he and Thomas pressed their weight onto his arms. He struggled, continuing to shout about a war long past. "They're going to kill me!" Danny wept, screaming till he was red in the face.

Rose placed her hand over her mouth, her own memories of soldiers pleading for life coming back. It broke her heart all over again seeing him in this state.

"Danny! Danny! Danny, you're home." Freddie put his entire slim frame into helping hold the man down.

Thomas put his head close to his ear, his voice loud but calm, never losing that tone of command. "We're all home in England, Danny. You're not in France. You're not an artillery shell, Danny, you're a man." Danny calmed, ceasing his failing struggles, "Eh? You're not a whizz-bang. You're a human being, Danny." Thomas took a deep breath himself, all the men's adrenalin failing as the threat was eliminated. "You're alright, you're alright." He kept repeating like one might to a frightened child. When Danny finally stopped weeping, they pulled him to his feet.

Thomas continues his hush affirmations, allowing Danny to catch his breath and lose the wildness in his eyes. "Ah, hell." He had clarity in his gaze. "Did I do it again?" He looked at the chaotic bar and Miss Rosie standing there. At least he hadn't hurt her this time. He liked Miss Rosie, she had the same name as his wife. He pulled his cap off his bald head in frustration at the thought of his wife, still giving small chocks of sobs.

"You did it again, Danny." Thomas pressed his forehead to the weeping man, as a brother would do. Bound by the horrors of war. "Got to stop doing this, man."

"Oh, God, Mr Shelby-"

"It's all right." He cut him off.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry-"

"It's all right." He repeated louder.

The rest of the bar was silent, some staring, some looking anywhere but the pair.

"You go home to your wife now, Danny. Try and get all that smoke and mud out of your head, eh." He encouraged.

"Yes, Mr Shelby."

Rose spoke up before he got too close to the door. "Danny, your hand!" He'd landed in a mess of broken glass when he'd been tackled, a scattering of glass still in the wounds as they began to drip blood steadily. Danny flexed his hand, just now feeling the pain as the strained muscle flexed and shifted glass. Rose walked quickly from behind the counter, going to action the moment he was no longer a danger. "Come on up, I'll get that stitched and give you something for the pain." Her small hand wrapped around his forearm, gently leading him towards the stairs to the clinic.

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry." He apologized seeing the blood drip to the floor between his fingers. He was still frazzled, his mind caught between the calm presence and the chaos it'd just escaped. Rose looked to Thomas for help, she certainly couldn't send him home in such a state. Bleeding all over and with glass in his wounds? Shameful…

But Danny was still uneasy, his own guilt making him avoid her concerned eyes. The last altercation in this bar ending very differently between the three of them. He turned to Thomas as if asking permission.

In turn, Thomas glanced to Rose. Although a bit weary at the idea, he gave a little nod towards her before encouraging Danny. "Go on, Danny. Let the good doctor take care of ya."

Rose cast Danny a small smile, immediately assuring there was no ill will from his last incident. Danny turned a bit pink, embarrassed but thankful as he began making small talk as they ascended the stairs. Over her shoulder, Rose offered a flash of a pitying smile down at Tommy, a reassuring glance as he watched them walk up and out of view.

Thomas sighed, his pulse still racing as he wiped a hand over his face. Danny's episodes were getting closer and closer together, a damn near weekly fiasco that was quickly earning him a reputation as a mad man. Weren't we all a bit mad now?, Thomas thought as he returned to his drink at the bar. But was Rosie right? Would that be him in a few months? A year? Day and night, past and present blended together in an inescapable hell?

"Mr. Shelby, you have to do something about him!" Harry tried to remain respectful knowing those men who weren't ended up one eye shorter, but he couldn't keep having his glasses broken and his furniture turned to firewood. Even now the hardiest of drinkers helped straightened up the knocked over tables before taking their leave. These men had had enough of the war, they didn't want to see or have to remember any more than they were already burdened with. When Thomas only wiped his mouth from a bit of spit, Freddie but in.

"Damn right, Harry." His voice making Tommy's teeth clench. He'd come to the bar to ease his sour mood, not make it worse. "You pay the Peaky Blinders a lot of money for protection." He pointedly reminded Thomas as the bookmaker finally managed to drink his whiskey, throwing it back in the same manner of which he'd disapproved of his brother doing earlier that hour.

Still, Freddie pushed. "You're the law around here now, Tommy, aren't you?" He mocked.

Thomas put down the empty glass with a satisfied breath, the whiskey burning his throat in a much-needed way. He tried to ignore the communist as he once more leaned on the bar beside him.

Grabbing his hat, he intended to leave, but Freddie's next words stuck him to the floor: "Maybe you should put a bullet in Danny Whizz Bang's head like they do with mad horses." Freddie felt, more than heard, Thomas freeze behind him. He didn't even flinch. "Maybe you'll have to put a bullet in my head someday, too."

Crying women and dying horses. Thomas was rooted at the spot, his eyes closing as he shook his head, dismissing the ludicrous statement and the images in his mind. He brushed his hair back with a hand before placing the cap back on his head. He had coppers to see.

"Bring the bill to the Peaky Blinders." He pointed at Harry in warning before his wrist flicked to the stairs. "And tell Rosie the same. We'll take care of it." He promised before leaving. Though he'd like to think otherwise, he had a feeling this was just the start of the trouble he'd been promised.

* * *

Was she a bad Catholic, she wondered. Rose looked to the confessional and then to the woman praying beside her, preferring to speak to Polly about what weighed on her mind rather than Father Smythe.

"What? What did you do now?" Polly sighed as soon as she opened her eyes, not even having to look at the young woman to feel the tension radiating from her. "Have you been getting trouble?" She turned with worried eyes. She'd hunt down Thomas this minute to-

"No, no, nothing like that." Rose gave a hearty sigh. "I just… I treated Danny 'Whizbang' today and i just know I've put a bandage on an injury without really treating it. It's a horrible feeling." Rose confined, looking torn to pieces at just sending Danny on his way after she cleaned and stitched his hand. They had talked while she worked, but Rose knew it wasn't the kind of talking he needed to do.

" _Ah._ " Polly nodded. "You mean how he's half minded and full mad, now?"

Rose spared a disgruntled look at the rather rude explanation but agreed anyway. "Yes." She said with slight trepidation, not wanting to encourage the callous way in which Polly spoke. "He needs help, as do a few other soldiers I've seen." She coyly reminded. "And I'm afraid until he gets it, it's only gonna get worse."

"Danny may have been one of the first to go mad but he certainly won't be the last." Polly admitted, seeing her nephews go down that same path, first Arthur, and now John. It always started with the bottle when they didn't want to take the pills. And it all went downhill from there. She was just so grateful Thomas was managing to hold it together. But even he had been lost in the war, the man that came back so different from the one that had left. Polly frowned, in thought, remembering the way he'd callously tried to push her and Ada out of the business earlier that day. His ruthlessness was great in the new dog-eat-dog world they lived in, but horrible for attracting the good woman and wife he needed. Well, perhaps it worked on some, Polly mused with a glance to Rose.

"These aren't boys, Rose. You can only scold them so much. They're men, meaning they're basically mules. Stubborn as, too." She humphed.

"I know." Rose came to terms a long time ago that unlike most wounds she couldn't tie them down and proceed to fix it. It made her feel helpless and useless all the same. "Danny's just such a sweet man behind that ticking bomb."

In such a broken, desperate voice he pleaded for her to understand he wasn't always 'like this' as she stitched up his hand, taking note of various scars across the limbs as she did so.

Danny Whizbang, Rose had come to learn was the child of farmers, and took great joy in tending to his little flock of sheep and garden on the outskirts of the city. He had a pretty wife, also named Rose, and a daughter named Anna. He was such a friendly and happy man, as peaceful as they came. At least until he was sent to war…

There was something especially heartbreaking about seeing how disgusted he was with his own actions, even when no one had been hurt. He just couldn't help himself, slipping between nightmares, memories, and what was real and what was in his head. It all blended together from his lack of sleep causing him to sometime snap at the slightest of shouts or bangs.

War changed people.

Of this Rose had experienced first hand. Her eyes flickered to the altar, the thought of Michael still seeping into her thoughts every day but no longer with the same crippling feeling of horror at what she'd done. Maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to come to terms with what she'd done. Not murder. But mercy.

"No man came back the same, Rose. They can't all be saved. Don't lose sleep over it."

They both knew she would, though.

The question itched on her tongue since Danny had left, desperate to ask but knowing she'd probably not get an answer from the man himself. The things she'd overheard didn't match with the man she'd come to known. So with a sudden surge of bravery as she got up to leave a few minutes later, she turned and simply asked. "What was Thomas like? Before the war?"

"He smiled more. Laughed a lot." Polly grew a fond look as she was lost to the memory. "The girls went crazy over him." The thug in a good suit, with the baby blue eyes and the cheeky grin. "They'd swoon and sway when he'd give them that look." She turned to Rose, giving her a sly look. "But you already know that."

Rose's mouth opened in shock but found herself giving a bit of a laugh. She supposed in his own way he could be rather charming… And as for him being handsome, well, there was no denying that. Her hand went to the necklace around her neck in thought. Gripping the silver cross, she ran it back and forth over the chain without realizing it, a habit she often did when thinking or reading. A habit not lost on Polly.

It was later than she thought, Rose realized upon glancing outside. The dusk had long passed and night had surely settled. She should leave if she wanted to enjoy her bath tonight. While most people would consider the task far too tedious to be a nightly tradition, for Rose it was the only full sure way to get the smell of the clinic off her at the end of the day.

"Rose?" Polly called.

Rose stopped her departure, humming a response. The only think on her mind sinking into a warm hot bath tonight.

"If you happen upon Thomas, send him here, would you?" She asked in that tone of a well-versed mother. A fine line between politely asking and blatantly ordering. A tone Rose had become accustomed to hearing the older woman speak in. "He listens to you." She commented offhandedly. "And he doesn't listen to many these days." The mumbled words seemed to have a hidden meaning. One Rose wasn't sure she was meant to ask about or not. Her lips parted, poised to argue with the assumption before she thought better of it.

It didn't have to be said that she would do as she was asked. "Goodnight, Polly." She began to head home.

"Goodnight, Rose."

* * *

She couldn't say she was surprised when, sure enough, she found herself catching sight of a familiar silhouette. He looked tense, in a hurry even, as he walked with his usual swagger. His head was bowed low to light an ever-present cigarette, the slight flickering of the flame just enough to confirm her suspicion as it danced over the well-sculpted face.

"Thomas!" Rose called for his attention. He turned at the sound, knowing there were only a handful of people who dare use the name. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, changing course as soon as he spotted her waiting pretty and patient for him.

"I was hoping I'd run into you." She greeted innocently enough. She missed the way he paused for a mere moment at the words.

"How much?"He pulled a money clip from his inner coat pocket. His tone was as steady as ever, the only hint to his hurry the tense clip in his words. Perhaps that's why Polly had asked her to find him. She'd guess he'd been running around the town all day doing this and that for reasons unknown to the doctor.

"Pardon?"

"For Danny, how much?" He balanced the cigarette between two fingers, the others flicking through the bills as he waited for an amount.

Rose stopped him before he pulled any out. "Nothing." He gave her a sharp disapproving look from under his lashes. "I don't charge Danny. He has enough troubles."

Thomas bit his tongue, knowing he couldn't argue. He put the bills back in his pocket with the mental note to have Finn slip a few pounds into her desk.

Thinking that business had been put to rest, Rose focused on why she had called him over. Usually, she'd be a bit more polite and linger with pleasantries, but it was clear Thomas was in a hurry and, quite frankly, so was Rose. "I left your aunt at the church. She asked that if I saw you, I send you to her."

"Asked?" His brow raised.

They shared a look of amusement, both knowing Polly didn't really _ask_ for things. His blue eyes flickered over her face, admiring the pink hue to her cheeks thanks to the cold windy weather. His hand came up, gently holding her chin and tilting her head up get a better look at the skin in the faint streetlight. Her injuries were far gone, only the slightest line of discoloration lingering on the once split lip. It might scar, but he doubted it would do anything to lessen her beauty.

A familiar voice came down the street, Thomas not even taking his eyes off her as he waited for a pause in speech to call him over.

"Jeremiah." Thomas removed his hand from her face. "Walk miss Pryor home, will you?"

He'd do it himself, the offer still on the tip of his tongue, but he had matters to attend to and an impromptu meeting awaiting.

Rose gave Thomas a disapproving look, a bit mortified he'd basically order her to be chaperoned home. "There's no need, Jerry." She sent an apologetic look in the street preacher's direction.

"Jeremiah." Tommy's tone left no room for argument as he stared the doctor down. He nodded his head at her as if motioning the darker man to stay with her.

Rose may feel as if her trouble was far gone but Thomas would like her to have a bit of company considering the darkness of the night and the rowdiness of the men boxing down the street. He had enough on his plate without worrying about her all night...

Jeremiah Jesus had become a dear friend to Rose since they had met under the unfortunate circumstances of his gunshot. They often crossed paths in the morning and on nights such as these, a quick and pleasant exchange of words between them whenever they crossed paths. _But_ as much as he liked Rose, his loyalty between the two would always go to Tommy.

Jeremiah nodded in agreement, waiting patiently for the annoyed young woman.

"Make sure she gets 'ome safe." Thomas patted the preachers back, knowing he'd do right by him. He put the half gone cigarette back in his mouth, walking passed and heading for the church when he heard her.

"Goodnight, Mr. Shelby." She said politely, using the formal name with a tone that clearly told of her displeasure.

Thomas felt the corner of his mouth flinch in a smile at the tone. "Goodnight, Rosie."

Rose watched him leave, the blush forming on her cheeks after he'd turn the corner. She turned to see Jeremiah still waiting for her. "Apologies. I really will be fine on my own." She hated to interrupt his work over such insignificant business.

"I have no doubts, miss Rosie, but let a man walk a beautiful woman home."

Rose couldn't help but flash a toothy grin. That was another thing she liked so much about Jeremiah. Despite his harsh looking face, he was quite the sweetheart with no judgment and not a bad word to say about anyone it seemed.

Despite the public setting, Rose didn't hesitate to take the black man's extended elbow, allowing him to escort her as if he was taking her into a ball as they walked down the street.

"I've never met a man of the cloth who was such a flirt." She teased back keeping her pace with his.

"Well God gave us eyes to admire the beauty he created." He winked at her. Rose couldn't help the chortle laughter that escaped. Usually offended by such flirtations, she knew Jeremiah meant only kind things by it. He was a dedicated man of God after his wife's passing years ago, and she knew no one would ever replace her in his eyes.

Rose couldn't help but look around every now and then, having taken note early on, on how the colored populations were treated here versus at home. There was certainly still the presence of refusal of service, the occasional vile words mumbled and none too-hidden dirty looks given, but it was nothing compared to what she'd witnessed visiting family in Georgia. She cast a glance to Jeremiah wondering what her family would think, before deciding she didn't much care.

Jeremiah was prefered company to almost all of her cousins on any given day.

They had only moved a few blocks when they were intercepted by a dizzying force. "Rose! Rosie!" A feminine voice called, out of breath and elated. Rose turned just in time to nearly be rushed off her feet when Ada Shelby took her hands in hers and spun.

She from Jeremiah's arm by the force, the smaller woman using Rose to break her less than graceful stop. Her grin was wild and uncontrollable as she stopped before them. It was clear something very good had happened and that Ada was dying to tell her. Based on the way she looked at Jeremiah, Rose had a feeling it was one of those bits of information that would be best not getting back to Tommy.

"I think Ada can accompany the rest of the way, Jerry."

The preacher seemed hesitant, but with her home in sight, he nodded and bid them farewell. Ada didn't even wait for him to be out of earshot before letting out a squeal. "Have you by chance seen Mr. Thorne tonight, Ada?" Rose's laugh could be heard in her hushed question. There were few things that made Ada smile like that, biting her bottom lip as if her grin would stretch so wide it'd fall from her face. They made quick work of continuing to her less than polished address, Ada waiting for the door to be closed and locked behind them before letting out a heavy dreamy sigh.

Rose nearly rolled her eyes at the giddy fool in love. Removing her coat, she lit the fire as Ada took a seat on the couch before it. Neither woman cared about the large tub situated between the two, having already know Rose had a vigorous bathing ritual that, after smelling her following a surgery, Ada was rather happy she kept to.

"So what did Freddie do now?" Rose cut to the point, straightening herself out as she put the pot of water on to heat. She planned to sink into the bath as soon as Ada had left, but for now, it was clear she was in desperate need of a female confidante. She crossed the room into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine from the cupboard. "Wine?" She could certainly use a drink after the week she'd had.

"Oh, Rosie!" Ada acted scandalized. "Bring the bottle." She winked, removing her shoes and pulling her feet beneath her. She took one of the glasses Rose held. That smile reared it's head once more as she circled the glass with a dainty finger. "We're going to tell them soon. Freddie promised." She looked up to the doctor standing by the fire, knowing that she didn't much approve of the man but would never do anything to break her trust, or her heart.

"You should." Rose encouraged if nothing else just so that they could save these girl talks for broad daylight rather than hiding in her home in the late night.

Rose put her glass of wine on the mantle, pouring one boiling pot of water into the bath before beginning another. So close but so far, she looked at the tub wistfully.

"He's the only man around here not scared of them. Well, so I _thought_." Ada admitted, still not pleased with having to meat under bridges and hide in dark corners. "But he says he loves me more than he fears them."

Rose looked at her with slight pity. Ada was beautiful in a classic, doll like way. Pale skin, Shelby-blue eyes, and the cutest button nose that had helped her get away with far too much as a child. "Ada, you deserve to be taken on proper dates." She advised softly. She didn't much care for the way her friend was being treated.

Ada drank from her glass, gulping it back rather quickly. "I told 'im I don't always want to be sneaking about." She looked at the red liquid before looking back at Rose hopefully. "He promised we'd tell them soon."

Rose held her tongue. She'd been saying that to her since she confessed to their little affair.

"It's just not a good time right now, that's it."

"Oh? And why's that?" Rose sipped at the sweet drink, now a bit disappointed she hadn't thought to grab the bottle of scotch form her office.

"There's a new copper coming to town. Tommy says he's after the likes of _communists_ and _finians_."

Rose let her hand fall, going a bit straight in the back as she thought of Demyan. She'd never outright asked, but he was a Russian refugee, and having seen him have hushed conversations with Freddie Thorne and his friends in the pub, it all but confirmed the suspicions. As much as Demyan was a pain in her side, she'd heard of the way communists were treated by the police. A bit of worry blooming from the seed of affection she had for him.

"I told him he should burn his books and stop making speeches."

Rose cleared her throat, going back to the topic at hand. "Will he?"

Ada shook her head. A smile crept on her face. "Though he did call me a princess. He said he was just a poor communist frog with a big mouth. And to give him a kiss if I wished to fix it." Ada giggled. "Oh, Rosie." She sighed the way only those in love could. "He's just so….so…."

"You're in love." Rose summarized. That much was clear. But Rose had to ask. "But is he?"

"Of course he is." Ada became defensive, her doll-like face twisting in indignation.

Rose crossed one arm under her breasts the other held her wine to the side of her face. She looked so much wiser when she stood over her like that, and Ada had the cruel thought that perhaps she was spending too much time with her aunt Polly.

"My mother told me: Never talk to a man who doesn't look at you when you speak. And never see a man who won't be seen with you any opportunity he can."

Ada gave a very unladylike groan as she slumping back against the couch. In this small space, neither woman had to worry about propriety with each other, saying and doing things they'd never do in male or older women's company. Here they could be the young women they only had a short chance to be. "What does that matter when you're in love!" She laughed, still euphoric from her previous fornicating deeds.

"You're a fool in love." Rose casually mumbles, sipping the last of the wine in her glass. She put in another pot of boiled water, her bath coming along nicely.

"Haven't you ever been in love Rosie?"

The question caught her off guard. So much so, it almost caused her to burn herself as she stood from the fireplace.

She looked over her shoulder, mouth opened to answer faster than her brain was to decide. "I...I don't know." She decided, her mind flashing first to Michael. A woman of high social standing, she'd had plenty of offers, many dates, and even a few short-term courtings, but love? "I don't think I'd even know if I was." She joked, a bit put off by the realization she'd never been as giddy by a kiss as Ada seemed to be at the mere thought of Freddie Thorne.

She thought of only one: a lingering peck to the temple that even now filled her with something...

The dark-haired woman sighed. "I don't even know how to explain it." She shook her head with a dreamy smile, imagining the communist frog that had stolen her heart. "It's just… you always feel better around them. Safer, warmer, not even exactly happy, you just feel… peaceful." She settled on, thinking of the way Freddie made her feel. "You miss their face and the sound of their voice, and sometimes you see them and can't help but feel something so strong you want to be closer just because it feels nice being around them. Haven't you ever had that?" Ada stopped her ranting to look at Rose with sadness. "Someone whose mere touch, mere _gaze_ , makes you feel like you've swallowed a swarm of butterflies?" She was desperate to hear that she had, that the doctor could understand why she was perhaps allowing Freddie to be less than the perfect gentleman.

With a faint blush, Rose realized she indeed did. Her hand touched her temple, scratching at her hairline nervously. She looked away from Ada, unable to help herself from thinking of another shade of Shelby-Blue eyes that often looked at her.

"It's a _kaleidoscope_ of butterflies, actually." She lamely tried to charge the subject, faintly feeling warm as she felt Ada's gaze, so intense at this moment it was even more similar to her brothers.

"He stares at you, you know."

Rose nearly spilled the wine she was pouring herself. The change of topic clearly was not going the way she wanted. " _Who?_ " She asked with a croak.

Ada gave a knowing smirk. "Tommy."

"He stares at lots of people Ada, it's an intimidation technique."

Ada looked at her like she was slow in the head, a playful glint in her eyes. "He's not trying to intimidate you, love. He looks at you like… he can't figure you out. But he'd given anything to know you. _All_ of you." Ada's eyes gave a sly look over her body. And Rose was aghast with disbelief and indecency.

" _Ada!_ " She scoffed a laugh.

"It's _true_!"

"Rosie." Ada sad softer, more serious. "He really does… _care for you_ , you know." Ada admitted a bit reluctantly. Her brother had always been one to be coy about his feelings for women, but after the war it was worse. But with Rose, he seemed to be less hardened. He was utterly smitten with the doctor, whether he would admit it or not.

"I know." Rose admitted. "We're friends, I'd dare to say." She liked to think they were, at least, it would seem incredibly intrusive of her if they weren't considering how often she stopped to talk to him.

"No." Ada said firmly, showing that hint of Shelby branded surety. "He needs a woman like you."

"Now Ada, we both know Thomas doesn't really need anyone." Rose poured yet another bucket into her almost done bath.

"He needs someone. And at least he listens to you." Ada nearly pouted.

Rose let the bucket drop to her feet, turning to stare her down with her hands on her hips. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

* * *

The door to the church creaked open before shutting with a slam, quick footsteps coming closer, breaking Polly mid-prayer. "I have ten minutes. What do you want?" Thomas sighed.

Polly looked like the cat that ate the canary as Thomas sat in the pew behind hers.

 _Good girl, Rose._

She knew full well he'd been running 'round all day, barely anyone getting more than a few minutes with him as he rushed through the day. If she'd asked him herself she would have been blown off, but she'd sent her secret weapon. Thomas never seemed to be able to deny a request from the doctor...

"An explanation." She kept her voice as even and quiet as always. You could never tell who lingered in the shadows. Even churches had rats. "I've always been able to tell when you're hiding something." She turned in her seat, eyes glancing at the otherwise empty room around them.

"People 'round here talk. Some of them work at the BSA. I've been talking to the wives of factory hands. Detectives have been asking questions in the proofing shops." She looked at him with knowingly. "Nothing happens in that factory without you knowing about it. So speak." She commanded. "God and Aunt Polly are listening." She nudged her head in the direction of the alter. Church always did make the little heathen nervous, and she was counting on that now to help him confess what he was hiding from her.

Thomas looked at his aunt, knowing by the familiar clench in her jaw she wouldn't this, nor him, go without getting answers she probably already knew half of. Polly was sneaky like that, teaching them to be the same way.

He sighed through his nose, shoulders tensing as he braced his hands on his knees and bowed forward. Those haunting blues stared at the church pew, lost in thought at the night that seemed to be more trouble than it might turn out to be worth.

"It was meant to be routine." He began. "I had a buyer in London for some motorcycles. I asked my men to steal me four bikes with petrol engines. I'm guessing my men were drunk." His brow jumped, not surprised but disappointed all the same. "There's a still inside the factory makes tram-line gin." And who were his men to pass up such good fortune on their part? "They picked up the wrong fucking crate. The boys dropped it at Charlie Strong's yard as agreed. But they must've taken it from the proofing bay instead of the export bay." He swallowed, keeping Polly in suspense. "Inside... we found twenty-five Lewis machine guns, ten thousand rounds of ammunition, fifty semiautomatic rifles, and two hundred pistols with shells."

Polly looked to the heavens. "Jesus, Tommy!" She barely restrained herself from shouting, even if the church appeared empty.

His brow jumped. Those were his feelings exactly. "All bound for Libya." He continued. "Sitting right there in Charlie Strong's yard." He mused as if a funny story told around a pint of mild.

Polly stared ahead before sharply turning to stare him in the eye. "Tell me you threw them in the cut." She begged.

Thomas kept his head bowed, his eyes forward. "We put 'em in the stables, out of the rain. The guns hadn't been greased yet."

In a mere blink Polly twisted her body, grabbing the pew for leverage as she leaned over to hit at his arm and shoulder mercilessly, the same way she had his bottom when he was a wee boy. This, by far, was the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

Thomas turned his head, taking the outrage as he had considered hitting himself quite a few times since that night as well.

When she finally calmed, she was nearly out of breath. "So that's why they sent a copper from Belfast." Her heart felt as though it would beat from her chest and onto the floor below.

Thomas looked at her with mild annoyance, finally meeting her eye. If she wasn't a woman, and his aunt at that, she wouldn't have gotten away with such a scene against him. "Maybe." He told sardonically. "Maybe not." He reasoned, a bit hopeful himself though they both knew they were never that lucky.

The guns alone proved that. They weren't a lucky find, but a stumbled upon death sentence.

"Thomas, you're a bookmaker, a robber, a fighting man, you're not a fool." She tried to reason with the man she'd always see as a young boy. "You sell those guns to anyone who has use for 'em, you will hang!" The door opened, a priest walking by them, utterly oblivious to their sins. "Dump them somewhere the police can find them." She advised. "Maybe if they know they haven't fallen into the wrong hands this might blow over. Tell Charlie to dump them tonight."

"No." Thomas shook his head. "He won't move contraband under a full moon. Three days until it wanes."

"Then you'll do the right thing? " She pressed. Thomas nodded. "You have your mother's common sense, but your father's devilment. I see them fighting." She leaned closer, giving him one final piece of advice. "Let your mother win."

If he followed his mother he'd get the pretty wife, and keep their family and business intact. But in her gut, she knew he was too much like his father. She was just worried what he'd lose when it came to light.

Polly crossed herself before the altar, sending one final prayer before she left without another word. Left alone, Thomas allowed himself one more moment of rest before going to see to the rest of his plans. He sighed deep in his throat, looking to the altar he rarely saw anymore for an answer he wouldn't be given.

 _What in god's name had he gotten himself into?_

* * *

 **Please Review :) I'd love to know if anyone's still interested in this.**

 **Sorry this was months late but a depressive episode set in and then on top of that I lost all the progress I had on this chapter and had to start from scratch. Grace will make an appearance soon enough. We'll also get to see Danny & Rose's talk in a later episode as a flashback, so there's that if you were curious.**

 **Thanks for being so patient with me! Hope you enjoyed it even if it is a filler chapter!**


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